


Vort Dogs: A Love Story

by andystarr



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Dib's in his mid-twenties, Invader Zim AU, M/M, ZaDr, also there's a coup d'etat, but it's generally supposed to be fun and cute, dorks in denial, gets a lil angsty, including violence and language, rated e for adult situations, road trip through outer space, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 145,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andystarr/pseuds/andystarr
Summary: Invader Zim AU: Dib Membrane came to Foodcourtia in search of adventure and delicious snacks. He found adventure in the form of a tiny frycook named Zim (and he found snacks in the form of Vort Dogs). Together, they break Zim out of Foodcourtia and strike a deal to get themselves back from the outskirts of Irken-known space. The only problem: Zim's hiding something, and Dib's too lovestruck to care.





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Invader Zim.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Till now, I always got by on my own. I never really cared until I met you." - Heart 

**i.**  


“And then she…. arrrrgh… and right in front of Sizz-Lorr–– WHY must the customers ALWAYS… ugh! And that kid! So _STUPID_ looking!”

“Uh huh.”

“So ugly!”

“Yeah.”  


“So… hnnggh—”

“So, quit.”

The irken, who was already standing in his chair, climbed onto the table so he was on his hands and knees, his scrunched-up face inches away from the customer. The customer in question, a human named Dib, had been enjoying his Vort Dogs quietly when he made eye contact with the employee and offered a small wave. The employee took this as an invitation to come over and rant about how much he hated his job, which he had been doing for the past five minutes or so. Goggled eyes bore into Dib’s face, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“I _will_ quit,” said the irken, his previously shrill voice now low and gravelly. “You will see. Zim has a plan. Zim _always_ has a plan.” 

“Oh, so your name’s—”

“ZIM!” From behind the counter, a beefy-looking irken was hollering in their direction. “Stop harassing the customers and go mop up the bathrooms!” 

Zim hopped off the table casually, like he hadn’t just been fogging up Dib’s glasses, and saluted to the other irken. 

“Yes, my Frylord!” Zim started to walk off, before pausing and turning back to Dib. “Here,” he muttered, reaching into his apron pocket and tossing a few hot sauce packets into Dib’s face. With that, he walked off toward the restrooms, back straight and head held high. 

“Hey, thanks,” shouted Dib, but the irken — Zim — was already gone. He quickly ripped open the packets and dumped their contents into his bag of Vort Dogs before the other employee (who flat-out refused to give Dib more than one packet) noticed. 

The other employee, a third irken named Gashloog, did seem to notice. He hopped over the counter and walked toward Dib, a look of frustration on his face.

“Sorry about that,” said Gashloog, pointing over his shoulder toward the bathrooms. “Zim yells… a lot. We don’t really know what to do about it.”

Dib deflated, relieved that he wasn’t about to get yelled at for sneaking extra hot sauce. “Hey, it’s cool,” he said. “It was kind of funny.”

“It’s _not_ funny,” said Gashloog, his expression hard. “It’s bad for business and it’s against the rules to harass the customers. He just — I don’t know.”

Gashloog leaned toward Dib, looking around to see if anyone was watching. 

“He got banished here, a long time ago. He got in big trouble back home and got his Invader status revoked. Now he works for us as punishment.” 

“Really?” asked Dib, a little impressed. “He was an Invader?”

“Yeah, don’t ask me how he passed the test. The guy’s crazy. Just one of those defectives, you know?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dib had heard that term a handful of times in reference to irkens. He didn’t really know what it meant. 

“Personally, I feel sorry for Sizz-Lorr. Usually, he likes pushing people around, but Zim — he’s just out of control. I don’t even know what’s going on in his head half the time.” 

“Huh,” said Dib, looking back toward the bathroom. 

“Well, anyway. Enjoy your Vort Dogs. Don’t worry about the hot sauce.” Waving a hand, Gashloog walked back toward the register. 

Dib watched him go, his mind still on the little ex-Invader. He wondered what Zim had done to get into so much trouble. He had a decent understanding of the Irken Empire, and had read a few books on irkens last year when he was visiting Irk’s library planet, Libraria (irkens, he realized, were not creative when it came to naming things). The books were all pretty old, though, and were more about irken PAKs (which he found fascinating) and Irk’s growth as an empire. He knew a few things about irkens from word-of-mouth, too, but the life forms he met never really wanted to talk about the Empire. It was kind of a touchy subject for more than a few species, and, besides, no one could usually stand listening to Dib ask questions for more than a few minutes before they got annoyed and left him alone.

Dib was used to that. He’d been alone most of his life, and he’d never really minded it. As a kid, he was always getting thrown into the Crazy House for Boys over his paranormal interests and general zaniness, so his peers steered clear of him. Even his dad thought he was insane. Sometimes, his sister Gaz would come with him on a mission to track down Bigfoot or some other creature he’d seen on _Mysterious Mysteries_ , but even she could only handle so much of Dib’s rambling. But, really, he didn’t mind being the outcast. Friends and relationships would have just gotten in the way of his work. 

It was his interest in space — his true passion — that got him sent to a prestigious research university out in the southwest that specialized in the study of the universe. His dad had broken the news to him at family dinner night, a few weeks before he started his senior year of high school. Son, you’ve been accepted to college. I’ve arranged for you to move out this spring. Congratulations. 

Dib had been pretty pissed at the time; he got the feeling his dad was just trying to get rid of him. He had already expressed his interest in a smaller university closer to home, one that had a respectable Paranormal Studies program. His colleague at the Swollen Eyeball (a network of paranormal investigators like himself) had agreed to write him a letter of recommendation and everything. But, Professor Membrane gets what he wants, and Dib moved across the country that May. 

Despite the circumstances, Dib had enjoyed college. He’d majored in Astrophysical Engineering and excelled in every class. He had access to the best professors and most advanced technology in the world. He’d had to quit The Swollen Eyeball, though, because his schoolwork was actually challenging and he didn’t have time to chase chupacabras every weekend. He missed it terribly, but, on the day he resigned, he resolved to keep following his dream of paranormal studies. His senior project was a spaceship he’d named _The Mothman,_ something compact that could take him wherever he wanted to go. He packed it up on the eve of his graduation, took off the next night, and never looked back.

According to Dib’s homemade watch, which also functioned as a calendar, holographic map, step counter, thermometer, and fashionable wrist accessory (he thought so), he had been in space for three years. Three years of exploring, of meeting new kinds of aliens and finding the most amazing planets. For three years he’d been a Space Dib, boldly going where no human had gone before. And he’d done it alone, with no one to back him up if he got into a fight or to hold his hair back when he got food poisoning and spent the night puking. He was independent and proud of it, and only on occasional nights of impulse or boredom would he invite a stranger back to his ship to knock boots and then ask them to kindly leave the next morning. He’d come to Foodcourtia after hearing about Shloogorgh's Flavor Monster, an apparent must-try for anyone traveling in this quadrant of the Omega Sector. The parking attendant he’d met this morning had advised him to try the Vort Dogs, and here he was, sitting in front of a bag of sausage-looking food that was apparently to die for, letting it get cold as his mind drifted to the little irken that had been harassing him moments before. 

It was weird — nothing about Zim said “approachable,” but the second Dib laid eyes on him, he couldn’t look away. He liked how active Zim was, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as if he might be called to action at any moment. Zim was uninhibited and intense, with no real self-awareness (that, or he just didn’t care that people were staring at him). Zim was confident, a trait that Dib admired, and he held himself like a Taller even though he was actually pretty tiny. Like, so tiny that his apron pooled on the floor around his feet when he stood. Which was actually kind of cute. Dib didn’t consider himself to be a particularly affectionate person, and he had rarely felt anything past physical attraction toward anyone before. Now, though, he wanted more of this: an unfamiliar fire in his belly, a desire that demanded attention. And Dib was in his mid-twenties now, feeling a little aimless and insecure about what to do next. He was hesitant to explore the emptier parts of space, knowing that he could end up stranded and starve to death on some uninhabited planet. He thought Foodcourtia might be his chance to regroup, get a new plan going while he snacked on some Vort Dogs, but now he was already sidetracked. Or, maybe, he was just noticing what was right under his nose. He watched Zim emerge from the bathroom, dry heaving and stumbling toward a door marked “Employees Only.” Maybe Dib had already found a new adventure. 

 

**ii.**

On Dib’s fourth day in a row at Shloogorgh’s, he brought his laptop and a duffle bag. For every previous day he’d been there, Zim had tried an outrageous and complicated escape plan that always ended with him nearly exploding and falling back into the restaurant. Dib had to hand it to Zim: the irken was nothing if not persistent. He got the feeling that Sizz-Lorr had seen a lot of these attempted breakouts. For every attempt at escape, the Frylord gave Zim an exasperated kick in the ribs and an order to get back to work. It was like Sizz-Lorr was playing a tiresome game of chess with a hyperactive toddler; he had no choice but to play along, but there was never any doubt that he would win. Dib felt a little sorry for Zim, though he still didn’t know what had led to his exile in the first place. Still, he’d been at Shloogorgh’s all day, every day since his arrival at Foodcourtia, and he was ready for a little excitement. He waited for Sizz-Lorr to go on break and watched the bowlegged irken send Gashloog to take over the register. The place was quiet (Sizz-Lorr only went on break when it was quiet), so Gashloog would be able to cook the food and work the register. That meant Zim would be sent to clean up the post-breakfast rush mess. 

As expected, Zim appeared from the back, dressed in that too-big apron and tall weird hat. Dib noted that if this was going to work, Zim would have to behave long enough to not be forced into the happy Shloogorgh costume, which was filled with hot grease and would not make for an inconspicuous escape. Dib watched Zim, a few tables away from the booth he’d parked himself at, and tried to discreetly signal him to come over. Zim looked up, saw Dib tilt his head in a pretty universal “come here” motion, and paused mid-mop.

“Do you want something?” he barked. Dib sighed.

“Yes, please, I have an issue with my table,” said Dib through gritted teeth. He grabbed his table with both hands and shook it as hard as he could. “It’s wobbly.”

“Then put some napkins down!”

“I don’t have any napkins, can you please just—”

“Then go get some!”

“Can you just—”

“Zim,” said Gashloog from the register. “Go help the customer.” 

“ _Fine,_ ” groaned Zim. He stomped over to where Dib was sitting like a kid having a hissy fit, and Dib wondered if he even wanted to help this dramatic little irken. But then Zim was standing in front of him, his hands on his hips and his foot tapping, and Dib felt that same weird little rush of affection he got every time he looked at Zim’s dumb, pouty face. And dammit if he couldn’t help but chase this annoying crush he’d developed. 

“Your table doesn’t even look that wobbly, guy,” said Zim.

“I don’t want to talk to you about the table,” hissed Dib. “Can you be quiet for two seconds?”

“Be quiet about what?” snapped Zim, though his voice had lowered, and he was now leaning over the table toward Dib.

“I want to help you escape.”

“I don’t need your help,” said Zim, so quick it was like a knee-jerk reaction.

“I’ve been coming here for the past four days. You clearly do need my help.”

Zim paused, thoughtful, then asked, “Who even are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your kind.”

“My name is Dib,” which Zim should have known, since he shouted Dib’s name out ever time his order was ready. “I’m from planet Earth. In the Zeta Sector?” 

“The Zeta Sector?” asked Zim, looking unimpressed. “And what would you know about breaking someone out of a high-security fast food establishment, earthanoid?”

“I know a thing or two about hacking security systems,” said Dib, memories of Crazy House getaways replaying in his head. “I think I’ve got this one figured out.”

“Why?” asked Zim, and Dib noticed that Zim had leaned in close, invading his personal bubble yet again. He looked nervously at Gashloog, who was busy placating a furious customer. 

“Why what? Why do I think I have it figured out, or—?”

“Why do you want to help me?” Zim’s glare was untrusting and hostile.

Dib leaned back in his booth, giving himself some breathing room. “Because, I don’t know. I don’t really have anything going on right now, and I thought it would be a fun challenge to bust you out. Do you really need a reason for me to want to help you?”

Zim continued to stare, the gears clearly working in his mind. He stood straight, arms rigid at his side, like a soldier waiting for orders. 

“And just _how_ would you hack into this security system? Do you even know anything about it?” 

A good question. “Yeah, I do,” said Dib, and he opened up his laptop so Zim could see the research he’d done the day before. “This looks like a pretty standard Vortian ’Splodey System. Nothing too fancy. They actually discontinued these on Vort because they were so easy to disable.” 

“Easy for a vortian, perhaps,” said Zim, still sounding doubtful. “I would be _very_ impressed if someone from the Zeta Sector could accomplish such a task.”

“Look, it’s worth a shot, right?” asked Dib, looking up from his laptop to smile confidently at Zim. “Worst case scenario, you’re stuck here another day. Best case, you’re free.”

Zim looked through the doorway at the outside world. Looked at Dib’s laptop. Shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Grabbed a handful of Dib’s Vort Dogs and shoved them in his mouth. Then, finally, he looked at Dib.

“So you’ll hack in. Then what?”

“I’ll erase your biosignature from the system.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll carry you out of here in this.” Dib pointed to the big, empty duffle bag at his feet. 

“You’ll carry me out?”

“Yes.”

“In that thing?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll hack into a security system that was once used on an irken prison planet, delete my biosignature from the records, then put me in your bag and carry me out?”

Zim was speaking at full volume. Dib looked around, sighing in relief at the sight of Gashloog, who was still being berated by that same angry customer.

“Please be quiet. And, yes, to all those things.”

Zim gave Dib a hard look. “You know they’ll send you to jail if you get caught trying to help me.”

Dib had considered that. Maybe he really was crazy, but he was very confident in his plan. He was also looking for an adventure. And, maybe, he hated the idea of leaving Zim to suffer on this stupid fast food planet. Even if he was a war criminal or whatever. Dib had heard of irkens getting tossed into space for something as simple as being short. And Zim was very, very short. So, Dib gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“I know,” he said. Zim sighed, then gave Dib another pointed look.

“And what will I owe you in return?”

“Nothing,” said Dib hastily. “I’m not looking for anything.”

Understandably, Zim was skeptical. But, Gashloog was done being yelled at and was now peering curiously over at Dib’s table.

“Look, we don’t have a lot of time, and we’re kind of out in the open making these plans. Are you in or not?”

“I’m in,” said Zim without hesitation — his antennae had already flicked under his hat back toward Gashloog, and he seemed to know that they were being watched.

“Meet me in the bathroom in an hour. I’ll have the system down by then.”

“Okay,” said Zim, before turning toward Gashloog and proclaiming loudly, “Your table is no longer dirty—”

“ _Wobbly!”_

“I mean wobbly! Have a good day, valued customer!” And with that, Zim marched off, tossing a few hot sauce packets at Dib as he left.

 

Dib finished his food and typed away at his computer, trying to get into the system without tripping any alarms. While it was about as easy as he’d anticipated, it was taking a little more time. Half an hour in, Zim finished cleaning the dining area and asked Sizz-Lorr, who had returned from his break, if he could go watch TV. 

“No!” barked Sizz-Lorr. “In fact, go clean the bathroom!”

“Yes, Frylord!” saluted Zim, marching off once again. When he passed out of Sizz-Lorr’s line of sight, he turned and winked at Dib, who blushed. Dib went back to typing with a renewed vigor, so focused that he didn’t even notice he was being watched until Sizz-Lorr was standing in front of him, peering over his laptop.

“Hey, what are you typing?” asked Sizz-Lorr, and Dib honestly couldn’t tell if he was being interrogated or if this was Sizz-Lorr’s attempt at casual conversation. “You look awfully nervous over here.”

Okay, so it was the former. Dib looked up, trying to keep his cool. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just working on a really intense chapter. I’m working on a novel, and it’s about—”

“That’s great,” said Sizz-Lorr, already backing away. “Keep up the hard work.”

That was a close one. Five minutes before he was supposed to rendezvous in the bathroom with Zim, Dib was in the system and erasing Zim’s biosignature. He closed his laptop and carefully placed it in his duffle bag, which he then slung over his shoulder. He tossed his garbage and headed into the bathroom. When he got there, Zim was standing in front of one of the mirrors, looking at himself. He made eye contact with Dib through the mirror and scowled.

“Where have you been?” he shouted.

“What are you talking about? I’m—” he checked his watch “four minutes early?”

“Hmmmmmmmm.”

“Look, let’s just get moving. Everything’s ready, we just need to _go_.”

With a flourish, Zim whipped off his apron, goggles, and hat, and Dib noticed that he was, in fact, wearing an irken Invader’s uniform. Dib also noted that Zim’s eyes were like a berry color — not red, but not totally pink, either. More magenta-y. They were like raspberries. They were looking at him. Squinting. 

“Well? Are we leaving or not?” asked Zim, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his newly freed antennae perked up toward Dib. 

“Right, sorry. Let’s go.”

Dib unzipped his duffle bag and held it out for Zim, who climbed in with relative ease.

“This stinks.”

“Deal with it.”

Zim’s protests were muffled as Dib zipped up the bag and readjusted it on his shoulder. Zim may have been a good foot shorter than Dib, at least, but the little guy was _dense_. Dib considered this was probably because irkens were built differently, or maybe Zim was just more muscular than he appeared. He wasn’t very skinny — not fat, either, but he definitely had a certain sturdiness to him. His legs were long and wiry, and he had wide hips, maybe so that he could balance better during fights, or so that—

“Um, are we leaving anytime soon?” asked Zim from inside the bag.

“Yeah, yup. Sorry. I just had to, uh, check something _oklet’sgo_.”

Dib could practically feel the doubt radiating from within his duffle. He cut off Zim’s continued protests, though, and left the bathroom trying to look as casual as possible. He passed Sizz-Lorr at the register.

“Hey,” said Sizz-Lorr, “good luck with your novel.” 

Dib, who had nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the Frylord’s voice, turned nervously around.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll let you know when it gets published.”

Sizz-Lorr eyed him, obviously confused by Dib’s nervousness.

“Hey, did you bring your bag into the bathroom? It looks, uh.. full. You weren’t stealing from me, were you?” He sounded like he was kidding around, but Dib had a feeling he wasn’t.

“Oh, yeah. Ha ha, no,” said Dib lamely. He knew Zim was glaring at him from within his duffle bag. “It’s, ah, just, you know, that time of the month, and—”

“Say no more. Have a nice day,” blurted Sizz-Lorr.

“Yeah, thanks. You too,” said Dib. And he turned on his heel and walked right out the door.

They were outside. They were outside, and the duffle bag wasn’t exploding. Zim was still inside, intact and free. They did it! Dib did it! He took in a deep breath, feeling very pleased with himself as he stood outside Shloogorgh’s, hundreds of types of life forms buzzing by him. And now—

Wait, now what?

Dib suddenly felt very dumb. Now what was he going to do? Drop Zim off somewhere? Take Zim to his ship, if he had one? Invite him out for a drink? He looked down at the bag, unzipping it just enough so that Zim could hear him clearly.

“Hey, um, what was your plan for when you got out of here?” he asked.

“Are we out?” he heard from within the bag. “We’re out of Shloogorgh’s?”

“Yeah, so what are we—”

Before he had the chance to finish, Zim had fully unzipped the bag and leapt out with a “Ha-cha!”, nearly causing Dib to topple over. That was nothing, though, compared to what Zim did next.

Turning to face Sizz-Lorr, who was plainly visible from outside the front archway of the restaurant, Zim pointed a finger and started to cackle.

“AHAHAHAHA! See who is laughing now, _Sizz-Lorr_?? Pathetic fry- _worm_! I have finally escaped the rotten stinkhole you call a foodery! And I will never return! You fool!! I AM ZIM!” 

Zim kept laughing as Dib turned and felt all of the blood drain from his face. Sizz-Lorr was already vaulting over the counter, pausing to suit up in some weird food-themed battle armor.

“Zim, we gotta go!” shouted Dib, just as Zim realized his mistake. He took hold of Dib’s wrist, leading him through the crowd at a staggering speed, Dib struggling to catch up and also keep his laptop from falling out of his still fully-opened duffle bag.

“Where is your ship?” shouted Zim as they sprinted through a crowd that parted the second they saw the little irken pushing through.

“It’s.. um… over there! In that garage!” called Dib, pointing to the building where he’d left _The Mothman_. It was impossibly tall, so tall that Dib couldn’t even see the top floor — where he had parked. 

“What floor?” asked Zim, turning to navigate them toward the garage.

“Roof!”

“ _Are you serious?_ ”

“Sorry!”

Zim stopped short, flinging Dib in front of him and then tossing him over his shoulder. 

“Hold on!”

Front this vantage point, Dib could see the spider legs emerge from Zim’s glowing PAK. He could see Sizz-Lorr, close behind them. He could see the people around him grow smaller and smaller as Zim scaled the parking garage with his PAK legs at a terrifying speed. Dib hugged his duffle bag as closely to himself as he could, trying not to scream. Zim was yelling about parking, and how there were always spots if you check the descending side, and, really, only idiots park on the top floor.

Sizz-Lorr was right behind them, glaring daggers at Dib as he scaled the wall just beneath them. Dib watched him, frozen in terror, before slipping sideways off Zim’s shoulder. He screamed, feeling Zim catch him by the collar of his shirt and haul him back over his shoulder in one quick motion. Dib watched as his laptop and bag dropped like rocks to the ground below them, where hundreds of aliens were watching the pursuit. He saw his laptop smash into the pavement. In a moment of pure relief mixed with pure terror, Dib held himself as far away from Zim’s body as he could and vomited down the side of the building.

From below, he could hear Sizz-Lorr scream, his PAK legs faltering in surprise as he paused, scooting around to try to avoid the oncoming regurgitated Vort Dogs. He yelled a few irken curses that Dib had never heard before, and Zim looked over his free shoulder to see what had happened. 

“Well done, stink monkey!” shouted Zim. “Excellent use of bodily functions.”

Dib groaned. 

They made it to the top of the building, Zim launching Dib over his shoulder with a shout: “Where’s your ship?!”

Dib picked himself up, still feeling sick, and hurried to where _The Mothman_ was parked, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his jeans and opening up the cockpit. Zim pushed past him, hopping into the pilot’s seat and snatching the keys from Dib. 

“Let’s go!”

“Hey, I was gonna drive,” whined Dib, sliding into the never-used co-pilot’s seat.

But Sizz-Lorr’s PAK legs were already catapulting him over the ledge of the building and onto the roof. He landed on the roof, wiping vomit off his face, just as Zim started the ship.

“Shit, ok, let’s go,” said Dib.

“Yes, I’m going,” huffed Zim, “not because you told me to, though.” 

“Oh my god Zim will you just _drive_!” 

Sizz-Lorr was scanning the floor of the garage, only noticing _The Mothman_ as they lifted off. The ship took to the air slowly as Zim frantically pressed buttons on the dashboard. 

“Can’t this thing go any faster?”

“ _The Mothman_ isn’t designed to be a fucking getaway car!”

“The _what_?”

They took off as quickly as Dib’s ship could manage, Sizz-Lorr sprinting toward them. Dib watched in horror as he used his PAK legs to leap straight up into the air, and the ship was dragged down for a moment under Sizz-Lorr’s weight. 

“Shit! Shit, he’s on the ship!” cried Dib.

“Not to worry, earth filth,” said Zim. “I will take care of him.”

In moments, Sizz-Lorr had managed to climb so that he was on the roof of _The Mothman_ and hitting the ship with his giant spatula.

“Can you breathe in space?” asked Zim.

“What? No!”

“Okay, then. Engaging SF-Drive,” said Zim, and then: “Where’s your SF-Drive?”

“My _what_?” 

“Your Scary-Fast Drive! How do I engage?”

“I don’t have one of those?”

Zim cursed, one of the expletives Dib had heard Sizz-Lorr use a few moments ago. He zipped down into traffic, dodging, diving, and weaving until Dib saw Sizz-Lorr go flying into a car behind them. 

“We lost him! He’s gone!” cried Dib, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Zim was still pressing buttons on Dib’s control panel, probably preparing to break out of Foodcourtia’s atmosphere and into space. They did it. They were safe. Dib felt the relief so heavy on his shoulders that he thought he might fall over. Instead, he reached for the irken sitting next to him, grabbed him by the face, and kissed him square on the mouth. 

Dib and Zim’s first kiss was over as soon as it started — Dib felt two four-fingered hands grasping the fabric of his t-shirt (he thought, for a moment, that Zim was embracing him) and then was promptly thrown toward the back wall of the cockpit like he was a crumpled-up ball of paper.

“You taste like vomit!” screeched Zim, before turning back to the controls.

Dib had about a second to be embarrassed before he felt his ship dropping under the weight of Sizz-Lorr once again, his stupid spatula smacking against top of _The Mothman_. 

“Do something!” cried Dib, but Zim was already turning the ship skyward, his PAK legs shooting down to root him to his chair as his did tight barrel rolls while angling straight upward. 

“Hold on!” shouted Zim after they were already coiling upward. Dib would have said something, had he not been launched into the side of his ship, slamming his head into a hatch that held windshield wiper fluid and getting knocked unconscious. 

 

**iii.**

The first thing Dib noticed when he woke up was the whistling. A cheery, mellow tune from a species that, until this moment, Dib didn’t even realize _could_ whistle. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking around for the source. He saw through the windshield that he was in space again, off Foodcourtia and, presumably, out of danger. His head was throbbing. He looked down at the floor of his ship and saw it was stained with his own blood. His tongue hurt — he probably bit it when he hit his head. He groaned.

“Alright back there, Dib-thing?” asked Zim, and Dib finally saw him, sitting in the pilot’s seat like he fucking owned it. 

“God dammit, Zim, you couldn’t have warned me you were going to start spinning?”

“I _did._ ”

“Ok, could you maybe have warned me _before_ you had already _started_ spinning?”

“I could have,” admitted Zim, “but that would have just given Sizz-Lorr more time to penetrate the roof of your ship. Is that what you want, Dib-thing? To be in space, in a ship that has a huge hole in it, suffocating to death? Hmmmm?”

Dib groaned again. “Don’t say penetrate,” he huffed, which he knew was a pretty weak counterpoint.

Zim paused to turn back toward Dib, his face expressionless. Those big, berry-colored eyes stared at him, bore into his face. Dib felt like Zim was seeing his entire soul, looking through his glasses and his face skin and his skull and seeing the jumbled, brilliant mess that was his brain. Zim stared at him with the intensity of an entire galaxy’s worth of stars. He looked at Dib like he was going to rip his consciousness from his body and evaluate it, right there and then. Like this was Dib’s judgment day, and Zim would be deciding whether to let him ascend into heaven or to toss him down into the pits of hell.

“Penetrate.”

“Fuck you.”

Zim threw his head back, laughing like Dib had just told the funniest joke in the world. 

And Dib thought that maybe that was kind of funny, too, until he got a better look outside the windshield and realized he had almost no clue where he was.

“Uh, Zim? Where are we right now?”

“We’re traveling toward the Upsilon Sector, quadrant four.”

The Upsilon Sector? Dib had never been there. He looked around, starting to get worried.

“Okaaay, but… where are we exactly? How long was I out for?”

“Quite a long time, Dib-thing. We’re—”

“Oh, wait. I think I recognize that star system. Is that where Devastis is? Ok, so I was only out for a few minutes, then—“

“Actually, Dib,” said Zim hastily, “we’re nowhere near Devastis.”

“What do you mean?” Dib checked his watch. Not a lot of time had passed since they’d met in the bathroom, maybe an hour. Certainly not long enough for them to be “nowhere near” Devastis, which was very close to Foodcourtia. 

Zim watched him look at his watch and sighed. “While you were unconscious, we went through a wormhole. Big one. We’re nearer to the outskirts of Irken-known space. Not even in the Omega Sector, nope.”

“Are you serious?” asked Dib, and he started to worry all over again. 

“Yes. And we’ll need to use an SF-Drive to get back to the more, eh … populated part of space. But, since you don’t have one, I am piloting us to a planet where we can pick one up.” 

“Wait, why can’t we just go back through the wormhole? Wouldn’t that work, instead of going farther out?”

“It’s, uh, a one-way wormhole,” said Zim. “Can’t go back.”

“We can’t just turn around?”

“We _could_ , if you want to fly back a couple hundred lightyears with no SF-Drive. How long do you suppose that will take? Oh, and, I forgot to mention, there’s not a single populated planet that way for the next seventy-five lightyears. Do you have enough food on board for your weak little body to last that long?”

“Oh.” Dib looked back out the window. “No.” 

Foodcourtia was pretty far from Earth, and he’d only just begun exploring the Omega Sector before stopping there. He really didn’t know where they were, but, still. That star system… it sure looked familiar.

“Are you _sure_ we went through a wormhole?” he asked, pointing toward what he could swear was Devastis’ sun. “That really looks like—“

All at once, Zim was in Dib’s face, dragging him to his feet and fisting a handful of his t-shirt.

“Does it, Dib-beast? Does some stupid star look like another one? Do you even know what you’re talking about?” 

Dib, startled, took a step back. “Woah, Zim, I’m not trying to make you mad, I just thought—“

“You thought what? That _Zim_ , an irken Invader, a trained pilot _,_ doesn’t know when he goes through a wormhole?”

“N-no, look, I’m not—“

“Then what is it, Dib?” Zim quieted suddenly, his hand flattening against Dib’s chest, rubbing small circles into Dib’s shirt with his thumb. “Do you think I’m _lying_ to you? After what we just went through? After you risked your life to help me escape from exile?”

Dib gulped as Zim stepped forward. Standing like this, almost touching, he saw just how short Zim was — he barely came up to Dib’s sternum, but Dib was frozen under his gaze. Zim rose onto his tiptoes, then his PAK legs, until they were face to face. He fisted the fabric of Dib’s t-shirt once again. 

“I will not lie to you, Dib. All I want is to repay you for what you did for me. I’ll improve your ship — I’ll even fix up the dents Sizz-Lorr put into it. Would you like that?”

Dib nodded.

“I will fix whatever’s broken. I will take you somewhere you’ve never been before and get you an SF-Drive. Then you can take us back to the Omega Sector and we’ll go our separate ways. Would you like that, Dib? A new adventure, with me? Does that sound fun, _Dib_?”

Dib nodded again, and a part of him knew he was being coerced. But, a part of him also knew that they made a pretty good team, working together to break Zim out. He also liked the sound of this SF-Drive — why not get one and make _The Mothman_ even better? His thoughts were all blurring together — maybe, he considered, because he was concussed — but all he could focus on was Zim’s hand on his chest, his breath on Dib’s face. Here was a person offering to partner with him, at least for however long it would take for them to get wherever they’re going. A person he actually _liked_ , was drawn to in an unfamiliar and exciting way.

“Where are you going to go, when we get back?” murmured Dib.

“Back to Irk,” said Zim simply. “I’ll need to get my PAK recoded so I can partake in the next invasion. Is that a yes, Dib? Do we have a deal?”

Zim stepped back, his feet landing on the floor as his PAK legs disappeared. He offered his hand to shake.

“You’ll take us to get the SF-Drive… you’ll get it for me. And we go back and I drop you off on Irk?”

“Yes, Dib, yes to all those things. Deal?”

Ignoring the goosebumps on his arms, Dib took Zim’s hand and shook it. He swallowed down a mouthful of bile that rose in his throat at the sight of Zim’s toothy, terrifying smile. 

“Deal.”


	2. Dirt, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I like the way your brain works, I like the way you try to run with the wolf pack when your legs are tied..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading this and leaving comments/kudos! I really appreciate it -- this is my first time writing anything of this length, and it's a project I'm really excited about. I'm going to try to update about once a week, but it might be more or less depending on my schedule. Anyway, thanks again for the support, and enjoy chapter 2!

**i.**

Dib had never had a roommate before. Even in college, he’d lived in an apartment by himself all four years, courtesy of his father. Not because Membrane had insisted he live alone, off campus, but because Dib had requested it. Sharing a space with his sister had been terrifying enough, even if it was just their joint bathroom, and the last thing he wanted was to bunk with some space-crazy nutjob or late-night party animal. Since graduation, he’d been living on _The Mothman_ by himself for years, cleaning up after himself when he felt like it, organizing how he liked it, and showering whenever the mood struck. Now, he realized, he probably could have used some practice with having a roommate before sharing his ship with the most impatient, hypocritical person in all of space. 

Zim had boarded Dib’s ship with nothing but the clothes on his back, yet he insisted on having his own shelf in the already-full storage closet. He ate Dib’s snacks without asking, threw a tantrum every time Dib offered to drive, and woke Dib up constantly, out of what Dib assumed was boredom, but could also have been an insatiable desire to annoy. And it wasn’t like Dib had a chance to ever really get away from Zim, who stayed almost exclusively in the pilot’s seat — he could hear Zim shouting from the bedroom, which shared a wall with the cockpit. He could hear Zim ranting from the bathroom, which was on the other side of the bedroom. He could hear Zim humming stupid, made-up songs from the storage closet at the very back of the main hull of the ship and from the trunk below deck where he kept extra food, winter clothes, and tanks of water. Maybe having a roommate wouldn’t have been so bad, Dib realized, if they weren’t sharing a three hundred square foot spaceship and if the roommate weren’t goddamn _Zim_. 

Zim stole from Dib while he slept, and Dib, who barely had any possessions to begin with, would wake up to find his toothbrush missing from the bathroom, or his toolkit missing from the closet. He would walk into the cockpit to find Zim, eating one of his candy bars and making some weird invention out of his stuff. Dib once gave Zim his old Game Slave to play on when he’d been kept up for 26 straight hours, then woke up later to find Zim had used it to make a bomb. Zim snuck into Dib’s room on more than one occasion to look at his stuff: first, he was obsessed with the pictures on his dresser. He spent hours looking at pictures of him and Gaz as kids, him at prom, Gaz at graduation and even one of his father, many of which were sitting in shattered frames because of Zim’s little stunt on Foodcourtia. Then, he wouldn’t stop talking about the _X-Files_ poster on his wall. Lately, he’d been going through Dib’s impressive (he thought so) t-shirt collection. He asked questions constantly, insistent on learning all about all of Dib’s “strange earthy thingies.” Once, Dib walked into the cockpit without shoes and had to answer sock-related questions for an entire morning. The next day, a pair went missing, and, suspiciously, Zim refused to remove his boots to prove he wasn’t wearing them. 

Zim yelled at Dib for trying to play music and then whistled for hours on end. He scolded Dib for keeping an unwashed cup in the fridge (it was right next to the juice; it made sense for it to go there!), but he left snack wrappers on the floor. He hit the ceiling every time Dib sneezed and shouted at him for hours about his disgusting nose, yet would laugh himself into a coughing fit over the stupidest stuff. He chastised Dib for not showering, but Dib had never seen Zim bathe. Not that he smelled bad or anything, but, on principle, anyone who ranted that much about hygiene should at least get acquainted with the soap every once in a while. 

And yet, despite all that, Dib felt a certain excitement when he woke up every morning that he hadn’t felt in years. Zim was weird and arrogant and impossible to understand, but he was a challenge, a mystery that Dib was hell-bent on solving. Because for every mean, inconsiderate that thing Zim did, he turned around a second later and did something nice. He took Dib out into deep space and showed him how to fix the dents that Sizz-Lorr had made in _The Mothman_ using an invention he’d built out of Dib’s electric razor. He built Dib a new laptop and transferred the information from the ship’s computer into it while Dib was sleeping. He fixed up Dib’s translator so it recognized more colloquialisms in Irken, Vortian, and a few other languages. When Dib got cabin fever, Zim would park them at a nearby planet and show Dib around for an hour or so. They would stock up on supplies or just wander around, talking about air density or the native flora and fauna. When Dib got antsy and there wasn’t a planet around for a few days, Zim would take him into the main hull of the ship and show him some basic irken fighting techniques until Dib was a sore, sweaty mess. 

When Dib had nightmares, really horrible dreams about being trapped, floating alone in the dark abyss of space with not a star in sight, just waiting for the oxygen in his suit to run out, Zim would sit next to him on his bed and watch old _Mysterious Mysteries_ DVDs with him until he felt better. Sometimes they would watch a movie, and Dib would explain earth culture and cryptids and paranormal science until Zim’s eyes glazed over. And Dib was pretty sure that Zim didn’t sleep, but Zim would sit with him until he tired himself out from talking, listening (or, at least, pretending to listen) until Dib was ready to go back to bed. Before Zim, he used to just lie awake, staring at the ceiling and trying to count to one hundred in all the alien languages he knew until he passed out. Now, every time he woke up, he could just wander out into the cockpit and find someone to talk to him, to calm him down. Dib wondered if this was what it felt like to have someone take care of you, as annoying as that someone could be sometimes.

 

Just over a month since their escape from Foodcourtia, Dib jolted upright from one such nightmare. The walk to the cockpit was such a habit that he didn’t really wake up until Zim started talking to him. Part of him thought that it was pure muscle memory that brought him to the pilot’s seat.

“Dib? Hello?? Dib-creature, what do you want?” asked Zim.

Dib shook himself, still rattled from his nightmare and not totally sure where he was.

“Um,” he said. 

Zim sighed, typing coordinates into the control panel without breaking eye contact. He stood up, put a guiding hand on Dib’s back, between his shoulder blades, and walked him back toward the bedroom. 

“So primitive,” murmured Zim. “To see scary things in your sleep. Makes no sense. Whatever, I was going to wake you up anyway.”

He sat with a still-disoriented Dib onto the edge of his bed, which was pushed all the way into the far corner of the room. He crawled across the bed to the wall and opened up the curtains of the one window in Dib’s room. 

“Look,” he said, pointing. “Do you know what that is?”

Dib looked through the window that took up almost the entire upper half of the wall. He crawled over to where Zim was on his knees, sitting primly with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes glued to the window. He plopped down next to Zim, cross-legged. Dib stared, not sure what he was seeing.

“Am I still dreaming?”

“No, fool.” Zim pinched his arm for good measure. “You’ve never seen one before, have you?”

“That’s not real.”

“Yes, it is. Get a good look.”

The creature outside looked like it was only a few miles away, but Zim assured Dib that it was nowhere near _The Mothman_. It was just that big, pushing itself through space by doing what Dib could only call swimming.  


It was unfathomably large: bigger than Earth itself, maybe even bigger than any planet Dib had ever seen. A giant space fish with patchy, watercolor skin in shades of black and blue sailed past them with big, slow movements. As it swam, Dib noticed a certain iridescence to it — it shined silver in spots as its body moved. It didn’t really have fins, but long, wing-like appendages (two on this side, from what Dib could see) that flapped slowly, vertically, keeping it afloat in the empty space around it. Its body tapered down into an elegant tail with flukes that operated just like a whale’s tail, swinging up and down to further propel the creature forward. It was much longer than it was tall. He watched it meander through space, passing by them, his heart beating hard in his chest. It was the most beautiful, most terrifying thing he’d ever seen.

“What is it?” he breathed.

“A _gormagander_ ,” said Zim. “A big one, too. It must be very old. One of the many wonders you don’t get to see in the Zeta Sector.” His cheeky smile was lost on Dib, whose eyes were still locked on the creature.

“Gorma-gander,” said Dib, trying to understand the word’s origin.

“Meekrob,” said Zim, like he’d heard Dib’s thoughts. “A complicated language, but the word refers to an animal that lives on their planet and looks kind of similar. A… what would an earthanoid call it? A ‘space whale.’”

“Space whale.”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I studied a fetal gormagander when I was a research assistant in the academy. They are… incredible animals.” Dib realized he’d never heard Zim sound so awestruck. Still looking out the window, he asked:

“Can you take a picture?” 

Zim nodded, his PAK whirring as Dib’s camera popped out and landed in Zim’s waiting hands. Dib didn’t even think to be mad that Zim had stolen his camera and probably took a bunch of stupid pictures with it. He kept staring as Zim snapped away, taking photographs that would automatically upload to _The Mothman’s_ computer. 

“I will use these pictures to make a diagram for you if you want. I know the anatomy of these animals.”

“Did you dissect it?” asked Dib. “When you were in school?” Dib would have loved to get his hands on that thing, to dig in and see how it worked. 

“Tallest, no,” said Zim. “We were trying to keep it alive until it was developed enough to be released. We extracted it from its mother when an explorer crew found her dying.”  


“Dying? From what?”

Zim chuckled. “Do you know nothing about animals, Dib?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at its colors. Why do you think it blends in so well with space? With the stars?”

Dib paused, finally broken from his stupor to look at Zim in shock. “It’s… camouflaging? Are you telling me this thing is a prey animal?”

Zim nodded.

“What preys on it?”

Zim smiled wickedly. “The stuff of nightmares,” he said.

Dib shivered, drawing his knees up under his chin as he looked out at the gormagander. 

“Why were you trying to keep it alive?” he asked, stuck on an apparent paradox. “Don’t irkens want to kill everything? Wouldn’t you _want_ to take it apart?”

Zim stared at him, a sour expression on his face. He looked back out at the gormagander, which was still in view, floating unknowingly by its audience. Dib watched Zim, waiting.

“I worked with a team of scientists to study and understand the plants and animals that live in deep space, with no known planets of origin. We had no reason to kill the gormagander fetus. It is a peaceful animal, and even if it is quite large, it is not a threat. Not every study needs to end with an autopsy, especially since we had the mother’s corpse to research,” Zim sighed, reminding Dib of one of his middle school teachers after she’d explained long division to Torque Smackey for the eighth time in an hour. 

“Irkens do not intend to destroy everything we touch.”

Dib looked back out at the gormagander, still feeling chilled, but for a different reason.

“It seems like it. Historically, at least. That’s what your people do. Take what you want and blow stuff up and murder and pillage and whatnot.”

Zim huffed, poking Dib in the cheek with a sharp nail. “I have not murdered _you_ , have I?”

“No,” allowed Dib. “But you need someone to entertain you and listen to your horrible singing.”

Zim growled, pushing Dib so hard that he flopped over.

“Hey! Geez, I’m sorry. I thought you _liked_ being part of a race of genocidal maniacs.”

Zim growled again, then moved to get off the bed.

“Hey, stop,” said Dib, pulling Zim back by the sleeve of his uniform. “Watch this with me. You can storm off once it’s gone.”

Zim hesitated, then plopped down next to Dib with a huff. They sat together, touching at the shoulders but not really noticing, until the gormagander was out of sight. Then Zim did storm off and Dib, too exhausted to stop him, crawled under the covers. He slept soundly the rest of the night, dreaming of space whales. 

 

**ii.**

Dib crawled out of bed a few hours later, feeling a little guilty. They’d been having a nice conversation, for once, and instead of taking the opportunity to get to know Zim a little better, he just put his foot in his mouth until Zim left. He shuffled into the cockpit, sheepish, an apology ready on his lips until he saw what Zim was doing.

Zim was standing by the door of the cockpit, his back to Dib. The irken was writing on some kind of tablet, roughly the size of a placemat, that hung in front of him via a mechanical arm coming from his PAK. Dib leaned toward the screen and saw one of the pictures Zim had taken the night before of the gormagander. Zim was labelling its body parts, scrawling irken all over the image. Dib moved closer, awestruck, again, by the animal. He could get a better look at it like this: it had a small dorsal fin that ran along its back and a long face with a wide, open mouth. He couldn’t see eyes, though, and he wondered if it even had any.

“Will you stop your horrible breathing,” huffed Zim, and Dib jumped. “You have the morning breath.”

“Sorry. I can’t not breathe though.” 

“Hm. You should at least try.” 

“Can I see?” 

Zim stepped sideways, letting Dib get a better view of the image, though his antennae were still flat against his skull. As Dib leaned in, Zim swiped two fingers across the screen, pulling up a new image: the gormagander’s body, this time, was almost impossible to see under the drawings that Zim had done over top. A skeleton, Dib recognized. Soft tissue. Organs. All labelled neatly, like something out of a biology textbook.

“Wow.”

“Mmm, yes. I am a phenomenal artist, I know.” 

“I was referring to the gormagander,” said Dib, before remembering last night’s tiff. “But, yeah, you did a good job labelling it and drawing the body parts and stuff.”

“I know I did,” snapped Zim. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Ok, well, I was going to apologize for making you mad last night, but now you’re being annoying, so—”

“Heh? Making me mad about what?” asked Zim, genuinely, like he didn’t even remember stomping out of Dib’s room.

“Um. For assuming you dissected the fetus you’d worked on? For saying irkens were all crazy murderers? You got all mad about it?”

“Oh, that,” said Zim, finally turning to catch Dib’s eye. “No need to apologize. It’s true. I  _am_  an unstoppable death machine. Just like every other irken.”

“Oh… kay.” Dib wasn’t really sure where to go from there. Zim had seemed like he was so angry at Dib a few hours ago, and now he wasn’t? He didn’t want to be pigeonholed, but now he did?

There was an uncomfortable silence, which Dib eventually broke with a question about the gormagander’s skeletal structure. They talked for a while, Dib asking questions and Zim answering them, the both of them agreeing that it was the most amazing animal they had ever seen. Dib had been right about the animal not having eyes. Apparently, the deeper parts of space where evolutionary developmental xenobiologists think the gormagander came from are so void of light that the species possibly didn’t ever have eyes. The thought of a place so dark sent shivers down Dib’s spine. Dib thought back to a comment Zim made the night before about the gormagander being a prey animal. He was about to ask Zim about the animal’s predators when the ship started beeping — a three-tone ring that Dib didn’t recognize. A square in the center of the windshield suddenly went black, no longer a window but a screen, and the words “INCOMING CALL” appeared in big, pink letters. Dib felt the hair rising on the back of his neck as he turned slowly to face Zim, who was shrinking his tablet down and stowing it in his PAK.

“Um, Zim? What is this?” asked Dib.

“Hmm? Oh, I installed it a few weeks ago. Not very sophisticated, because I don’t have the tools I need, but—”

“You installed a… telephone? In my ship?” The beeping continued, but Dib could hardly hear it. His heartbeat kicked up a notch, and he gritted his teeth.

“Well, it’s not just for audio calls, but for video—”

“Video calls, Zim? Really?” Dib felt the panic rise in his chest, competing with absolute rage.

“Stop interrupting me!” Zim crossed his arms, turning to face Dib with a frown.  


“You realize how fucking stupid it was that you did that, right?” asked Dib.

“ _You_ realize how rude it is to interrupt people, right?” countered Zim.

“Oh, my god. You seriously built a video transmitter into _my_ ship’s computer without asking me? One that could let _your_ enemies find you? And me? Do you know how easy it would be for the authorities to hack into a signal coming from this ship and track us down?”

Zim froze, and Dib realized that he actually hadn’t thought of that. What an idiot. 

“Not to worry, Dib, that won’t be a problem.”

“Won’t be a problem? Why did you even need to install this? Who do you need to call?”

The ship’s computer kept beeping. Dib wanted to tear his hair out. Zim wiped his chin with the back of his hand, looking away to avoid eye contact with Dib.

“I… had to call the Tallests.”

“The _Tallests_? Are you kidding me, Zim?”

“I needed them to know that I left Foodcourtia and am returning to Irk to get recoded! A simple update on my situation! They were worried about me!”

“Like hell,” grunted Dib. “And what if they find us and capture us and throw us in jail? What then? You know you’re a fugitive, right? And I’m your accomplice?”

“They wouldn’t!” Zim assured. “The Tallests and me… we go way back! They’ll be happy I’m coming back! They probably missed me so much — oh, how they must have missed their favorite Invader!” Zim was practically bouncing with excitement now, and Dib fought the urge to punch him in the face. The computer kept beeping.

“Zim,” said Dib, putting one hand on his hip and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other, “I’m pretty sure you just got the both of us killed.”

“No! No, no, no! I did not! I am Zim!” Zim was practically vibrating now, reaching for Dib. “I will show you! We will be fine!” He held both of Dib’s hands in his, and Dib was lost in the wild look in his eyes. He felt his stomach drop. 

“No, Zim, don’t answer that—”

“Computer! Open transmission!”

“ _No!”_ Dib raced to the control panel, searching desperately for some way to end the call before it started. But it was too late. The screen went black for a moment, and then an image appeared. An irken looked back at them, eyes fixed on Zim. Dib paused, shocked and helpless. He stared at the screen for a second until recognition hit him, then his stomach dropped even more. “Shit.”

“Hello, Zim,” said the irken on screen. 

“Um,” said Zim, and Dib looked back. Zim was staring at the screen, no longer buzzing with energy. He brought a hand up to his chin and tilted his head, confused.

“Hi?” said Zim. “Who are you?”

Wait, what?

“Zim, it’s me. Gashloog,” said the irken on screen. “From Shloogorg’s?”

“Where?” asked Zim, still confused. Dib stared. Was this some kind of trick? Or had Zim really forgotten somehow?

Gashloog sighed, then reached off screen. He tugged on his uniform — hat, goggles, and apron — then held his arms out. “Ta da.” 

Zim sprang to life. “Gashloog!” he shouted. “Wow, how long has it been?”

“Not even two moon cycles.”

“Are you still at Shloogorg’s?” asked Zim as Dib looked on, dumbfounded.

“Yes.”

“Wow,” chuckled Zim. “The more things change, am I right? Now, what do you want?”

To his credit, Gashloog seemed unfazed by Zim’s apparent forgetfulness and his sudden hostility. 

“I wanted to talk,” said Gashloog calmly. “I thought we could make a deal.” 

“What kind of deal?” asked Dib, and Gashloog fixed his gaze on him, eyes narrowing behind his goggles.

“Nothing concerning you, foolish worm,” he sneered. Dib was so startled by the retort, he took a step back toward Zim. 

“Hey!” barked Zim. “What kind of deal?”

Gashloog sighed, sent Dib one more look of disdain, then turned back toward Zim.

“I have something of yours. Something I know you want.” 

“Something of _mine_?” asked Zim, and suddenly, he was buzzing again, his hands balled into fists and his eyes on fire with excitement. “What is it?”

“It’s—”

“What is it!?”

“It’s your voot—”

“ _What is it?!”_

“WILL YOU SHUT UP SO I CAN TELL YOU?”

“ _WHAT IS IT?!”_

“I HAVE YOUR VOOT CRUISER, YOU IDIOT!”

Zim stilled. His eyes went comically wide, then narrowed into slits.

“You have… my voot cruiser? _My_ custom-made voot?”

“Yes,” said Gashloog. “I have your voot cruiser. I want to meet you somewhere so I can give it back to you.” 

“Ok!” said Zim, who was once again bouncing on his heels. “Sounds good to me!”

“Zim,” hissed Dib, hoping he was speaking quietly enough that Gashloog couldn’t hear him. “This sounds like a bad idea.”

“Nonsense,” said Gashloog, and Dib turned, embarrassed, back to the screen. “This is an amazing idea. Right, Zim?”

Zim looked at Dib, then back to Gashloog. Then Dib. Then Gashloog. He hesitated, a look on his face like a dog being offered raw meat by two people on opposite sides of the room. His eyes landed on Dib, and he squinted.

“What do you get from this, Gashloog?” he asked, and Dib released the breath he had been holding.

“I go with you back to Irk,” said Gashloog. “I’m quitting Shloogorg’s, and I need a new job. Since you were an Invader, I thought you could get me into the academy.”

Dib paused. This whole thing smelled like a trap. Irken PAKs, when they were operating correctly, blocked any urges to leave an assigned position. Gashloog might be rebelling against his PAK’s commands, but… that seemed unlikely. Gashloog was unfailingly enthusiastic when it came to working. He dove into every task — cooking food, dealing with customers, cleaning tables — with absolute glee. In the four days he’d dined at Shloogorg’s, Dib hadn’t seen him complain or even frown once, except when he was yelling at Zim.

Zim was quiet, mulling over the offer. “Gashloog,” he said carefully, and for a second, Dib thought he might decline the offer, “I don’t know if you have what it takes for the Irken Military Academy. I don’t know that you’re as amazing and brilliant as I am.”

Ok, no, he was just being a prick.

Gashloog sighed, again. “I know, Zim. That’s why I need you to come with me. I need your endorsement, because you’re… such a… great… Invader.”

This, Dib realized, was most definitely a trap.

“Well, can’t argue with that!” said Zim, clapping his hands together with joy. “I hadn’t planned on returning to Irk so soon but… hmm… I suppose I could rearrange my plans.”

Dib waved his hands, trying to get Zim’s attention, but the irken didn’t notice — he walked past Dib to the screen, his hands folded behind his back. 

“We have a deal, then?” Zim asked.

“Yes, we have a deal. Where would you like to meet?” asked Gashloog. 

“Hmm… Dib, where is your mapping system? Pull it up now,” said Zim, finally turning to Dib.

“Zim,” said Dib, trying to sound calm. “We really shouldn’t—”

“Just pull up the map, Dib. Now.” Zim’s voice went hard, and Dib clenched his jaw.

“No.”

“Pull the map up, now, before I claw your eyes out and make you eat them,” said Zim, and Dib could hear the whirring noise that meant Zim’s PAK legs were about to emerge. He stepped back.

“Zim, come on. This is obviously a trap, you can’t—”

“I won’t ask again, Dib-thing.”

Zim stepped forward, and Dib tried to hold his ground, he really did. But the look on Zim’s face terrified him to his very core, and he was tapping a button on the dashboard before he knew it, his hands shaking.

“Good,” said Zim, turning back toward the screen. Dib felt a wave of hatred wash over him, fresh and unfamiliar, as the cockpit became bright with lights. Dib’s mapping system, a three-dimensional hologram that took up the entire cockpit, took shape around them.

“Wow,” said Zim, and Dib was annoyed that the praise —if you could even call it that — had quelled his anger to some degree. But, really, he knew his map was impressive.

What started as a simple hologram of Earth had developed into a map of the entire universe as Dib knew it. Detailed and intricate, completely to scale down to the smallest asteroid, Dib’s map documented three years of space exploration. He had combined a few different kinds of technologies to make it. He had started, of course, using Earth tech, but every update and enhancement had been courtesy of Martian, Vortian, Plookesian, even some Irken technology. Every planet orbited its sun and tilted on its axis in time with its real-life counterpart. Every free-floating rock followed the path Dib had calculated, colliding with a planet, moon, or other asteroid at the exact time Dib predicted, exploding on impact just as it exploded on Dib’s map. It was Dib’s pride and joy, his proudest achievement, and he felt a swell of satisfaction as Zim stared, slack-jawed. 

“Well?” asked Gashloog. Zim snapped back to life.

“Um,” he noticed the blinking blue light in the middle of the map just as Dib did. 

“That’s us,” said Dib, pointing at the light. “Hey, wait a minute—”

“I will meet you on Planet Dirt in three days, Gashloog!” announced Zim. “And you will return my voot to me! Computer, end transmission. Dib, put the map away.”

The screen flickered black, and then the stars outside reappeared. Dib bit his lip.

“Zim, I don’t think this is right.” Dib pointed to where their ship was on the map, nestled under the label: Omega Sector, Quadrant 3. 

“We’re still in the Omega Sector? But you said—”

“Clearly your map did not account for the _wormhole_ we entered, Dib-smelly. It thinks we’re still in the Omega Sector. Irken babies could program a better map than you.”

Dib frowned. That couldn’t be true. But right now he had bigger problems to deal with. Like, how he was going to convince Zim not to walk straight into an obvious trap on a planet called _Dirt._

 

**iii.**

“There’s no reason for him to want to join the academy.”

“You said that already.”

“There’s no reason for him to have your ship.”

“You said that already, too.”

“And _you_ said that the last time you saw it, it was on Irk. How would it get to Foodcourtia? Who would drive it there?”

Zim turned toward Dib and flung a half-eaten nutrition bar at him. It hit him right in the face, knocking his glasses off.

“Zim, can you please just listen to me?” asked Dib as he leaned over, feeling along the floor for his glasses. He heard Zim scoff from up in the pilot’s seat. Then, a hand was grabbing him by the hair and yanking his face up. He winced, about to complain, before he felt his glasses slipping back into place. He opened his eyes and saw Zim’s face an inch away from him. His hand was still in Dib’s hair.

“I have been listening to you for the past three days. Perhaps you should try your luck at shutting up?” Zim released him, and they both straightened back in their seats. Dib huffed, not wanting to do as Zim asked but, really, he’d been talking nonstop about this dumb deal since they got off the call with Gashloog, and Zim wasn’t budging an inch.

It almost felt like Zim _wanted_ to get killed. Dib had tried everything to convince him not to meet up with Gashloog; at one point, he’d even threatened to toss all of his snacks out the airlock, but Zim was stubborn. A more paranoid part of Dib thought that Zim and Gashloog were in cahoots against him, but he knew that was probably stupid — Gashloog hated Zim way too much to ever really partner with him. Which was what made this supposed deal even more suspicious. Dib had one more plan up his sleeve, but it wasn’t great and could potentially get Zim even madder at him. But, they were less than an hour away from Dirt, and it was Dib’s last hope.

“Zim,” he said. “What am I going to do without you? I can’t get an SF-Drive by myself. I don’t even know where to go, or what one looks like, or how to get it. I need you to help me, otherwise I’ll just starve to death out in space, like you said.”

Zim paused, only for a second, before looking over at Dib. They sat like that, staring at each other for a few seconds, before Zim broke eye contact.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. 

“I’ll die,” Dib pressed.

Zim gave a frustrated little growl, the rubber of his gloves squeaking as he gripped the yoke harder. 

“You’ll be fine, Dib. Just… you can find some food or something on Dirt, and you can get back and you’ll be fine. I’m sure… I’m sure there’s another wormhole or something that’ll take you back. Just go back toward Foodcourtia and you will be okay.”

“What if the authorities find me? They must know I’m with you. I’ll probably get sent to Vort and tortured for information, you know?”

“ _No_ , you won’t,” growled Zim, his antennae flattening against his head. “Do not say that. I won’t allow it.”

“You probably won’t even had a say,” said Dib, pleased. He hadn’t been able to get any kind of reaction from Zim for the past three days. He was a little surprised to see his last-ditch plan was actually working. 

“Dib, enough is enough. I don’t want to discuss your stupid wormbaby concerns for another minute. Just _shut up_.”

“What if I don’t?” asked Dib hotly. “You’ll rip my eyeballs out and make me eat them?”

Zim’s eyes narrowed. He started straight ahead, still holding the yoke in a death grip.

“I wasn’t actually going to do that.”

“Felt like you were.” 

Zim twitched, still avoiding eye contact.

“I needed to see something and you were being an insolent little smeet about it. What do you want, Dib? An apology? Fine, I’m sorry I threatened to tear your eyes out of your giant head. But you were being annoying, so I had to.”

Dib growled, wondering how this stupid alien had managed to figure out exactly how to push his buttons in so little time.

“I was trying to _help_ you, Zim! That’s what I’m trying to do now. And my head’s not big.”

“ _Zim_ does not need your help! I’m going to get my ship back and finish my mission alone. That’s how I _like_ it.” 

“Fine, then. I guess I’ll just figure out how to avoid getting murdered for aiding a criminal alone, too.”

“You won’t get murdered! I will see to it!”

“Will you even know? What if I’m dead by the time you get back to Irk, and you find out later? Then what? Are you going to resurrect me?” Dib was trying not to sound too desperate, but he also knew that, if Zim did ditch him, this was a very real possibility. His stomach was doing turns as he imagined living the rest of his life in prison. Why hadn’t this been a concern for him before, when they made their deal?

“YOU’LL BE FINE,” barked Zim. “I WILL MAKE SURE YOU ARE FINE.”

Dib persisted, though he knew making Zim this angry was generally a bad idea. “I don’t know, Zim. I don’t really know this part of space that well. You even said my map was bad. I don’t really think I can survive all the way out here without you.”

Zim stomped both his feet against the floor. He slammed his head into the yoke. He grabbed his antennae and yanked them down, screeching. He leaned forward, breathing heavily, his face in his hands. 

“Dib,” he panted, not looking up. “I need my voot. I will make sure you are okay. Please do not talk to me about this again.”

And maybe it was the antennae-pulling, or the stomping, or the “please,” but Dib shut his mouth for the next forty minutes as they approached Planet Dirt.

 

They arrived on the light side of the planet, a few miles north of the equator. As Dib had kind of expected, Dirt was disgusting. He had no idea what it had been before the Empire conquered it, but, according to Zim, it was now a garbage dump planet. 

“Dirt is much colder than Foodcourtia,” Zim had warned, which inspired Dib to pop below deck and grab his old trench coat. He pulled it on over his lucky blue t-shirt, which he had worn in the hopes that it would help him convince Zim to stay away from this trash heap. It had not, but Dib kept it on, just in case. He slipped into his warmest boots and reentered the cockpit just as Zim was preparing to land.

“Hey,” said Dib.

“Hi,” came the terse reply.

“I, um. I hope things work out for you. You know, if I don’t see you again.” 

Dib knew he shouldn’t be upset — Zim was a criminal and a liar, and he should be glad to be rid of him before things got worse. Even now, Dib knew he could very well be in big trouble. But, a part of him was still feeling a little heartsick at the idea of leaving Zim and Dirt behind and going back to being alone. 

“Thanks,” said Zim. 

“I don’t know if you, like, hate me or whatever, and that’s why you’re backing out of our deal. It doesn’t matter. I just… wanted you to know that I had fun these past few weeks with you. I’ll miss you.”

Zim peered over at Dib. He shot him a crooked little smile.

“I recall you calling me a ‘dirty little snack thief.’”

Dib laughed. “Yeah, well. You did steal my stuff all the time. I… guess I won’t miss that.” Even though it kind of felt like he would.

Zim sighed. He said nothing as they entered Dirt’s atmosphere. He landed _The Mothman_ in the woods, far from the main Cesspool and the surrounding trash piles but a short distance from a shitty-looking apartment complex. He flicked a few buttons that popped open the windshield, then took the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to Dib. They sat in silence, looking at each other for a few long moments.

“I have to meet Gashloog now,” said Zim.

“Okay.”

“You will be alright, Dib.” Zim reached over to Dib’s face and pushed his glasses, which had fallen slightly on impact, back up the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Dib, and he had a feeling it was true. His map was too accurate not to account for a wormhole. He was only a few weeks from civilization and he knew it. If he needed to, he could whip up a disguise to avoid the authorities. Zim was right. He would be fine. But, he was also starting to get the feeling that Zim didn’t really want to leave, and that made him feel less fine.

“I have to get my voot back. It has an SF-Drive, and I—”

“I get it, Zim. I know. Just… be safe, okay?”

“I will be safe. I… maybe, we will meet again?”

“Probably not,” said Dib, not to be cruel, but because it was true. Space was big. He and Zim were small.

“I will miss you too, earth monkey.” Zim stood up and stepped over to Dib’s seat, leaning over Dib and planting his hands on Dib’s shoulders. Dib felt a lump in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. Zim stared at him with such intensity, with so much emotion, it was like they’d been together for years. He stared back, trying to memorize Zim’s face in the event that they _did_ cross paths again. Big berry eyes. Little black antennae. High cheekbones. Sharp, narrow jawline. Tense, pursed lips. If he just leaned forward a tiny bit—

“Don’t go,” murmured Dib, the words spilling out of him before he had a chance to stop them. 

Zim straightened, broken from the reverie. 

“I have to,” he said. And he was gone.

Dib watched him hop out of his ship. He watched Zim duck through the trees, heading east. He watched Zim disappear into the woods. When Zim was out of view, Dib felt what must have been the invisible string of fate pulling him forward, because, next thing he knew, he was sneaking through the woods of a strange planet, following an unknowing Zim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gormagander" is a reference to a similar "space fish" in Star Trek: Discovery.


	3. Dirt, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... I like the way you turn me inside and out. I like the way you turn." - The Wombats 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: This chapter gets violent.

**i.**

The woods were dense and dark, with a canopy that blocked almost all the light that radiated from Dirt’s tiny, weak star. The trees were low, only a few inches taller than Dib and, at certain points, he had to duck down to avoid hitting thick, knotty branches. It was cold enough that Dib could see his breath when he exhaled, but the breeze blew humid air into his face, frizzing up his hair and making his skin feel clammy. The woods were quiet, save for the sounds of rocks skittering along the ground and animals — crying? Mating? Dying? Dib wasn’t sure. If he hadn’t spent the better part of his childhood chasing paranormal beasts through the trees of his home planet, he would feel totally out of his element here. Instead, he felt a familiar jolt of excitement. This was the creepiest place he’d ever been to in his life, and he fucking loved it. The woods were thick with secrets, and Dib wanted to explore them all.

A light ahead of him kept him on track: the pink glow of Zim’s PAK as he cut through bushes was barely visible, but it was there, minute and far away, receding before him. Dib snuck around trees and stumbled over roots, shooed away bugs and walked into puddles, chasing that light. He didn’t know what he would do if Zim turned around and saw him, or if something venomous dropped from above and sank its teeth into him, but he had a feeling either scenario would yield similar results. He didn’t care, though. He didn’t even really think about it. All he could think about was that light, bright and inviting as it shined through the trees, like a hand reaching back for him and begging him to follow.

He followed Zim at a crawling pace, trying to keep a reasonable distance as the irken stumbled through the woods with similar difficulty. He tapped his watch, the white glow of the screen blinding him for a moment as he checked his progress. About a mile away from his ship, and Zim showed no signs of stopping. Dib plugged on, following Zim’s light. Ahead of him, Zim paused, then took a hard left. Dib froze, hoping he hadn’t been caught, but Zim carried on, not turning toward Dib as he pushed through the trees at a quicker pace, panting. Dib couldn’t help his curiosity — he picked his way to the spot where Zim had just been. Nestled between two crumpled old trees, Dib didn’t see anything but a pile of rocks. He looked to his left, toward Zim, confused.

“What scared you?” he whispered, still staring down at the little rock pile. “Must be, like, the Dirt version of the Blair Witch.” 

Something caught his attention, and he realized for the first time that Zim had led him almost to the edge of the woods. Through the thinning trees to his right, Dib could see that dilapidated apartment complex, about three stories high and, unsurprisingly, very dirty-looking. Dib watched as a few irkens left the building, holding mops and dragging empty buckets behind them. They talked casually amongst themselves, chatting away unknowingly as Dib watched. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a sharp pain on the top of his foot. He looked down, realizing that the little rock on top of the pile had fallen and landed on him. The wind blew a chilling breeze through Dib’s body. He shuddered. Looking up, he could still just barely see Zim’s PAK, glowing as the irken rerouted himself again, this time turning right and heading back in the direction he was originally going. Dib took a deep breath, then stepped around the remaining rocks to follow behind Zim once again. 

 

Zim reached his destination about half an hour later. By that time, Dib was exhausted. He’d stumbled through a deceptively deep puddle and gotten his jeans all mucky, and now they were drying all stiff and it was uncomfortable to move. Not only that, but he’d lost his glasses when he fell and had to stop to pick them up and then rush after Zim, tiring himself out and then tripping and landing on his elbow, which was now throbbing. This kind of thing had been way more fun when he was a kid. Now, it just felt… tedious. 

Zim had reached a clearing and was now on the edge of it, hiding behind a tree and talking to himself.

“What a weirdo,” whispered Dib aloud.

He snuck around Zim, a few yards away until he found his own spot on the edge of the clearing. If Zim looked to his right, he might be able to spot Dib from where he was hiding behind a narrow little tree. But, he wasn’t looking. Zim sat down, his back to his own tree, mumbling to himself and holding his head in his hands. Dib wanted to come closer, to hear what he was saying, but he didn’t dare. He still had no idea what Zim would do if he found out that Dib had followed him. A more pressing issue was the fact that Dib didn’t know what to do next. He hadn’t come into this with a plan. He figured he would reveal himself when the time was right.

A sharp sound made Dib jump, and he looked over to see that Zim was up now, too, rigid and ready for action. He peeked around his tree, and Dib followed suit. The sound, Dib realized, was of something slicing through wood. He watched as a spinning metal disk cut through a tree across the clearing. The tree fell forward, revealing Gashloog, who was stowing his saw back into his PAK. Gashloog jumped onto the tree, walked along its trunk, then hopped into the hard, dry dirt of the clearing. The whole area looked dead, and Dib wondered if this clearing was the result of some kind of explosion or laser attack from back when Irk was invading. He considered this, and what it meant for the ecosystem to have this patch of dead earth in the middle of the forest, when Gashloog gave a whistle.

From behind his tree, Zim responded. Gashloog looked in Zim’s direction.

“Are you alone?” he called.

“Are _you_?” replied Zim.

“I asked first.”

“ _ARE_ YOU?”

“Fine, yes. I’m alone.”

“Okay, me too.”

Zim emerged from the tree, and every alarm bell in Dib’s brain went berserk. He watched Zim march into the clearing, legs kicking straight ahead of him and arms behind his back. He stopped a few feet ahead of Gashloog.

“Well? Where’s my voot?” asked Zim, looking around.

Gashloog looked behind him, and Dib thought he saw something move in the woods at his back. His mind went into overdrive, trying to think of what to do next.

“It’s not here, Zim,” said Gashloog, holding his hands up in front of him. “I don’t have it.”

Zim blinked, tilting his head to the side in confusion. Dib tensed.

“Um, okay? Where do we have to go to get it, then?”

From where he was standing, Dib could see something big moving through the woods behind Gashloog. It circled the edge of the clearing, slowly and quietly, but Dib could plainly see the familiar glow of an irken PAK as it moved through the darkness. The glow disappeared as it circled around, shielded by the body it was attached to, but it was replaced by the sound of twigs breaking underfoot. The irken was getting closer, and Dib edged himself as closely to the tree as possible. Gashloog was still talking with Zim, slowly and calmly explaining that they wouldn’t be going to Irk together while Zim got increasingly agitated. Dib held his breath as a large body passed in front of him, only a couple of feet away. He stood absolutely still as the irken circled around until they were right behind Zim, who was still talking. 

“Gashloog, what are you even talking about? You said you had my voot! Let’s get in it and go!”

“Zim,” sighed Gashloog. “I don’t even know where your voot is. For all I know, it’s in a million pieces at one of the garbage dumps around here. It was trash.”

“It was— it is _not_ trash!” snapped Zim. “I built it myself!”

“Yeah, out of all the garbage parts the Tallests were getting rid of.”

“Nonsense! My voot is perfect! Just give it to me and we can go back to Irk! ”

Sizz-Lorr emerged from the woods, just behind Zim, and wrapped a big hand around Zim’s neck.

“You’re not going to Irk,” he growled. 

 

Dib tried to ignore the resulting chaos: Zim screaming and firing plasma rays from one of his PAK legs, Gashloog shooting at him with a laser gun, Sizz-Lorr howling as Gashloog hit both him and Zim with burning laser beams. He tried to focus, get his mind together, as he thought of a plan on how to get Zim free and haul ass back to his ship. First, he felt around in his pants pockets. Nothing but his keys. He checked his coat for something; maybe he left a weapon in there, just in case? Nope. Of course not. 

Dib hissed when he felt something hard collide with his ankle bone. He looked down and found a familiar looking rock sitting innocently next to his foot. He stooped down and picked it up, a plan forming in his head and he tossed it in the air and caught it, feeling its weight in his hand. Not a great plan, but Dib figured a good hit to the back of the head would be enough to make Sizz-Lorr drop Zim, and then they could hightail it back to _The Mothman_  where Zim could shower Dib with compliments for being such a brave and resourceful savior. A real Dib in Shining Armor. 

Okay, focus. 

Dib looked down at the rock, psyching himself up to throw it. He looked at the ground, hoping that there might be some others lying around in case he missed. By his feet was an entire pile of rocks. Weird, he thought, that he hadn’t noticed them before. Oh, well, at least he had some on deck. Only when he looked back to the rock in his hand did he notice it was shaking. 

The little rock vibrated in his hand until it suddenly broke apart, collapsing into six pieces: one big, round one, a smaller round one, and four skinny, more oblong ones. As quickly as the rock collapsed, it reformed as a little body and hopped upright in Dib’s hand. It leaned toward him, blinking open two black eyes. It tilted its head at him and chirped. 

“Oh, my god,” whispered Dib. He touched the rock on its newly formed belly. It chirped again, then waved its arm up at Dib. 

“Hey, li’l buddy. Look at you. You’re so cute!” 

If a sentient rock could look bashful, this one did, with its tiny arms behind its back and its little head tilted down toward Dib’s hand. It waved at Dib again, this time with both arms, then reached up for his face. It chirped again, with more urgency, it seemed. 

“Aw, what’s up?” asked Dib, not able to help the smile that broke out on his face. “You gotta tell me something?”

The rock baby nodded, reaching toward Dib again.

“Okay, little cutie, hold on.” 

Dib put his free hand on his knee and leaned forward toward the rock creature. It took his face in its arms, smushing his cheeks. It stared at Dib, its eyes suddenly narrowing. Before Dib could react, it let out an earsplitting scream.

Dib winced, grabbing for his ears with an “argh!” as the creature held fast to his face. It stopped screaming, but Dib could still hear the ringing in his ears. He looked up just in time to see two hunched-over irkens, their hands still holding their antennae, turn toward the woods and look right at—

“Dib?” Zim was picking himself up from the ground, where Sizz-Lorr must have dropped him when the rock creature started screaming. Dib froze. Zim stared at him, eyes wide with confusion. He held his hands up, palms facing Dib in a “woah, there” gesture. 

“Dib,” Zim’s voice was shaking as he took a step back. “Don’t… move.”

What Zim didn’t see was Gashloog behind him, picking up his gun and pointing it at Zim. Dib panicked, ripping the rock baby off his face and throwing it as hard as he could at Gashloog. It screamed as it flew through the air, another horrible, high-frequency screech that made Dib hold his ears for dear life. It hit Gashloog square in the gut, and both fell backward onto the ground. The earth beneath Dib started shaking, and suddenly the pile of rocks near him was collapsing. Each individual rock rolled toward Gashloog, who was hastily trying to retreat. But the little rock was standing on his chest, holding him down. Rocks from all over the forest came thundering into the clearing, making Dib lose his balance and fall on his ass. He watched as the creature standing over Gashloog grew, each new rock adding to its body until it was bigger than Gashloog, bigger than Sizz-Lorr—

“Shit, shit, shit,” shouted Dib. “Zim! Run!”

Zim, who had been watching the rock monster grow with a look of horror, turned at the sound of Dib’s voice. He sprang into action. His spider legs emerged from his PAK, and he started running toward Dib when Sizz-Lorr grabbed him at the base of his metal legs and threw him to the ground. Sizz-Lorr put a big foot on Zim’s PAK and gave a yank, ripping his spider legs out. Sparks flew. Zim howled. 

“Zim!” Dib scrambled to his feet and rushed into the clearing, grabbing for Zim’s outstretched hand. He ducked away from Sizz-Lorr’s punch, about to retaliate when the rock monster, now twice as tall as Dib, roared. Dib, Zim, and Sizz-Lorr turned to look as the monster reached down and picked Gashloog up off the ground. 

“Boss!” shrieked Gashloog. “Help me!”

Sizz-Lorr reached into his PAK and produced what looked like a rocket launcher, aiming it at the rock monster and firing right at its head. The rocket exploded on impact, sending little pieces of rock flying through the air. The monster roared again as the rock bits flew backward toward it, reassembling its head. Enraged, it held a screaming Gashloog above its head with both hands and pulled, ripping him apart at the waist. 

Pink irken blood splattered around the clearing, hitting the trees, the ground, Sizz-Lorr, Zim, and Dib. Gashloog’s screams died as his mangled body was dropped to the ground. The monster’s eyes moved next to Sizz-Lorr, who was still holding the rocket launcher. It roared a third time and took big, graceless steps toward the Frylord.

“Zim… Zim, we gotta go.” said Dib shakily, pulling Zim up from the ground and dragging him back into the woods. They ran hand-in-hand back through the forest, stumbling back the way they came. Dib turned back to check on Zim, biting his lip as he got one last look of the clearing, where the rock monster was reaching down for Sizz-Lorr, whose screams Dib could still hear, rattling around in his head. 

 

They kept running, ducking through the woods at a frustratingly slow pace. Eventually, Dib felt Zim’s other hand grabbing at his, pulling him backward. Dib turned to see Zim, his face glowing in the dark woods with sweat and Gashloog’s blood. He looked pale, and he was panting hard, a long alien tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

“Dib,” he huffed, grabbing Dib by the elbow. “We have to stop.” 

Dib paused, listening for the monster. Whatever was happening back there, Sizz-Lorr was holding his own — Dib could still hear the sounds of him shouting and the monster screaming. A shriek and a bang sent tremors through the earth, and Dib threw an arm out to keep his balance.

“Zim, we can’t—”

“We can’t keep running,” blurted Zim. “The gorignak will catch us in no time once it’s done with Sizz-Lorr. We need a plan.” 

They parked themselves at the base of the biggest tree they could find, obscured from the rock creature, for now. Dib looked at Zim, who had his knees drawn up under his chin. They both sat in silence for a moment. Dib tried to catch his breath.

“So, uh. Gorignak?” asked Dib. “What’s that mean?”  


Zim gave him a bland look. “It means ‘rock,’” he said.

“Oh. Okay, yeah, that’s—”

“That’s not important right now.”

“Not important. Yeah, no, that’s what I was gonna say, um.” Dib looked Zim over. Suddenly, he remembered the noise Zim made when Sizz-Lorr ripped his PAK legs out. 

“Hey,” he said. “Are you alright?”

Zim flinched, and he peered over at Dib from behind his knees. “I am perfect. Why do you ask?”

Dib fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Just, you know, when your metal legs got ripped out, you screamed really loud.” He felt a pang of sympathy hit him as the words left his mouth. 

“I’ll be fine,” huffed Zim. “My PAK is healing itself as we speak. I’ll be fully operational soon.” 

“Okay, good,” said Dib. “I’m glad.”

Zim looked at him, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the lower half of Dib’s face. He reached forward, swiping at one of Dib’s cheeks. Dib could just barely see a droplet of his own blood on the tip of Zim’s gloved finger. He realized that he must be bleeding a little from when he ripped the mini-gorignak off his face a few minutes ago. His face suddenly started to sting a little bit at the memory, and he pursed his lips. Zim looked from the blood to Dib’s face, one eye wide and the other narrow.

“Are _you_ alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” whispered Dib, “’m fine.” 

Zim gazed back down at the blood on his finger. He stared at it, looking confused.

“…Dib,” he said slowly, “Why did you follow me?” 

Dib followed Zim’s gaze to the hand between them, unsure of how to respond. They sat in silence for a moment before another bang startled them both to their feet. Dib peeked around their tree. From where they were hiding, he couldn’t see much. 

“I can’t see what’s going on,” he whispered. “Can you?”

“No,” said Zim. “The trees are too dense. Pick me up.”

“What?” asked Dib.

“Pick me up, you idiot, so I can see where it is over the trees,” snarled Zim. 

“Okay, okay. Just… be careful it doesn’t see you.”

“Of course I will be careful! I am a master of stealth.” 

Dib crouched down as Zim climbed over him so that he was sitting on Dib’s shoulders. They rose shakily, Dib steadying himself on the tree with one hand and holding Zim by the thigh with the other, keeping him square on his shoulders. Zim grunted, then slapped at Dib’s hand.

“Stop tickling me!” he whispered angrily.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” hissed Dib, embarrassed.

“Don’t touch me!”

“You’re sitting on my shoulders! I can’t not touch you!”

“Try!”

Dib cursed, then put his other hand on the trunk of the tree as Zim balanced himself by digging his nails into Dib’s skull. Dib wanted to complain, but, as he was about to, Zim popped his head above the canopy. There was a roar. In an instant, Zim’s face was in view again, and he was scrambling to climb down Dib’s back. Once his feet hit the ground, Zim took a deep breath.

“Okay, so here’s the situation,” he started.

“Yeah?” 

“The gorignak is no longer fighting with Sizz-Lorr.”

“Okay.” 

“It has spotted us and is coming this way to kill us.”

Dib tried to stay calm. “Okay, so what’s our plan?” he asked, and he heard another roar, this one closer.

“I’m willing to listen to any ideas you might have,” said Zim, who was literally trembling in his boots at this point. Dib felt the ground beneath him shake.

“Let’s run screaming,” he offered, and off they went. 

Zim had been right — the gorignak was plowing through the trees at top speed. Dib knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up to them. He could feel the earth shake with every step the monster took, and he willed himself to keep running. He could see Zim just ahead of him, dodging the trees and leaping over fallen branches. They sprinted as fast as they could, the gorignak behind them, uprooting and throwing bushes and trees at them. Dib screamed. 

Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he was getting tired. He wasn’t used to running this much, and his pants were still stiff from dried mud. His winter boots were bulky and heavy on his feet. He gritted his teeth, trying to think of some way out of this mess before he and Zim both got killed.

He was considering asking Zim if his PAK legs had been reconstructed yet when he tripped on a root and fell forward, his glasses going flying. He landed on his face, the skin just below his eye scraping on the hard ground. He yelled, and, distantly, he heard Zim shouting something at him from a few feet away. He groped around on his hands and knees, searching for his glasses, when a big foot landed right next to him. Slowly, he looked up.

The gorignak was standing right above him, staring him down with black, lifeless eyes. Dib froze, his own eyes trying to focus on the blurry figure standing above him. The rock monster was huge, tall and bulky and terrifying. It had developed from a tiny, doll-like creature to a full-on beast, with big hands that could grab and arms that could smash and feet that could stomp. It roared, so loudly that Dib thought he might go deaf. He felt his heartbeat thudding in his chest. He was screaming. His hands were shaking. This was it. 

As the gorignak leaned over, reaching for his face, he heard Zim shouting. Dib turned his head away from the monster to see him reaching into his PAK.

“Take cover!” yelled Zim, and he chucked something at the gorignak, whose hand was only a few feet away from grabbing Dib by the head. With no real way to shield himself, Dib threw an arm in front of his face just as an explosion shook the ground. The gornignak fell backward, its body collapsing back into many smaller rocks. 

Zim cackled. “You thought you could beat _me_ , foolish rock-beast?! I am a genius! I am all-powerful! I AM ZIIIIIIIIIIM!” 

Dib stared at where the gorignak had just been standing, not really knowing what he was looking at. He heard Zim ranting, but it was distant and muffled, like when he was driving the ship and Dib was in his bedroom with a pillow over his head. Dib knew Zim was probably gloating, but he couldn’t translate the sounds he was making into exact words. His sole focus, really, was the pain that had started in his arm and was now ripping through his entire body. He didn’t want to look down, but he did, and the sight was gruesome. His entire forearm was a bloody, dirty mess. His trench coat was tattered from the elbow to the cuff. Bits of rock were nestled in his muscles, and the exposed bone made him want to gag. Pieces of metal were lodged in his arm as well, scraps that shined back at him, standing out among the dirt and blood. The biggest piece, which appeared to have cut all the way through his wrist and was poking out the other side, was a familiar purple. Dib could just make out the G on one side of his arm and part of the S on the other. He felt tears slide down his face, stinging the abrasion under his eye that had formed when he fell. He couldn’t breathe.

“Dib!” Zim was standing above him, his eyes wide as he stared down at Dib’s arm.

Dib couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He looked up at Zim, unable to do anything but stare. Zim knelt next to him, reaching for him then changing his mind, so his hand just hovered over Dib’s mangled arm. 

“Dib,” he whispered. “Can you get up?”

Dib tried, but it was like he didn’t have control of his limbs anymore. He shifted around, trying to plant his feet, but his whole body was shaking and his legs weren’t moving the way he wanted them to. He looked up at Zim again, shaking his head slowly, choking on a sob.

“Okay, Dib, okay,” said Zim. Carefully, Zim hooked Dib’s good arm around his narrow shoulders. He slid under Dib’s knees with one arm, then slipped the other around Dib’s waist. He lifted Dib slowly, almost smoothly. Dib held his injured arm close to his chest, still sniffling and unable to properly breathe. 

“Okay, Dib,” Zim kept repeating as he walked them through the woods. Dib stared down at his arm.

 

**ii.**

It was a slow, agonizing crawl through the forest. Because he wasn’t running anymore, Dib was suddenly, brutally aware of how cold Dirt was. He felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness, his head lolling backward. He felt Zim gently nudge him, so that his cheek was against Zim’s chest. He pressed his face into the soft fabric of Zim’s uniform, inhaling deeply in the hopes that he could find a comforting smell in the threads of Zim’s clothes. All he could smell was dirt, plus something else. Irken sweat, maybe, or Gashloog’s blood. Every now and then he looked down at his arm, still mangled and bleeding heavily. He wondered if he was going to die. 

“Okay, Dib, just hold on,” murmured Zim. “You’re going to be okay, just wait a few more minutes.”

Zim carried him through the woods, out into another open area. Dib didn’t notice the change in scenery, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to force himself to take deep breaths. Dib heard the sound of glass breaking, but he didn’t see the window or the hole Zim blasted through it. He heard the sound of Zim’s PAK whirring, and he felt Zim shifting around him, but he didn’t see the half-rebuilt spider legs emerge or hear the pained grunt Zim gave as he lifted them onto a windowsill and slipped them into a stranger’s apartment. 

When Dib finally opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor of a kitchen. There was a dining table and chairs just in front of him, the smashed window above it, and a counter to his right. Zim’s blurry figure was knelt beside him, using a pair of purple scissors to cut the sleeve of Dib’s trench coat off at the elbow. He distantly realized that his glasses were somewhere in the woods, probably broken. He looked over at Zim, who was frowning deeply. Zim looked up and met Dib’s gaze.

“Dib?” he asked. 

Dib stared at Zim, realizing he should respond but too out of it to think of anything to say. Zim tugged the sleeve down Dib’s arm, gingerly pulling it over his hand it and dropping it to the floor. Dib could see his whole forearm now, red and mangled and coated in dried and fresh blood. Dib felt his stomach doing flips at the sight, but he couldn’t look away. He leaned over toward Zim and buried his face in the crook of Zim’s neck, one eye squeezed shut and the other wide and staring at the wound. Fresh tears started pouring down his face.

“Okay,” said Zim softly. “Obviously, this is bad. We need to get you back to your ship. Stay here for one second. I will be right back.”

Zim stood and disappeared, retreating into another room and out of Dib’s sight. Dib could hear the crunch of glass beneath Zim’s feet as he walked away. He looked down at his arm again. Zim was right. It was bad. 

When Zim returned, he had a small purple bag in his hand. Dib recognized it as an irken medical bag by the pink insignia on the side: a circle around a plus sign, with three triangles around the circle made to look like a minimalist image of an irken’s face and antennae. Zim sat down on his knees next to Dib and placed the bag next to him.

“Standard issue,” Zim said. “Whoever lives here…” He let his voice trail off, not finishing his thought. He put a hand around the back of Dib’s neck, pulling him gently until Dib’s face was pressed against him again. Dib sighed shakily at the feeling of Zim’s antenna sifting through his hair.

Zim reached into the medical bag, picking up different vials and reading through them. Dib watched. He felt weak, and it was getting hard to keep his eyes open. He let Zim lie him down, holding his arm to his chest. He watched Zim reach over and drag a dining chair closer, then gently lift his feet up and place them on one of the lower rungs. Zim continued to clink vials, muttering to himself. Eventually, Zim produced a small bottle from his own PAK, which he combined with a few other liquids from the medical bag. Zim unwrapped a syringe, then filled it with the mixture. To Dib’s horror, Zim stuck the needle into an exposed vein in his arm and shot the strange liquid into his body. 

“Wha—” he choked out, barely able to lift his head up at this point. Zim reached over and brushed some of Dib’s sweaty hair out of his face. 

“Easy, Dib. Lie still.”

Somehow, Dib found the strength to speak. “What did you do to me?” he asked.

“This is not a permanent fix. But it will be enough to keep you alive until we get back to your ship.”

Dib tried to sit up, but Zim held him down. He reached into his PAK, then held something in his hand out to Dib. 

“I can’t see it,” said Dib weakly. Even as he lay there, though, he could feel whatever Zim injected him with taking effect. His heartbeat, light but rapid, was slowing down and pumping stronger in his chest. His bad arm went numb.

Zim chuckled, a humorless little laugh, before sliding Dib’s glasses onto his face. Dib blinked.

“I grabbed them before I saw you were hurt,” Zim murmured. 

“Thanks,” whispered Dib. 

Zim reached into the bag again and pulled out a handful of supplies. He dipped what looked like a metal tongue depressor into a jar filled with some kind of pink goop. He leaned over Dib and wiped at one of the cuts on his face with it. Dib hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” said Zim. “Should have warned you it would hurt.”

“’S okay,” said Dib. “What is it?”

“Irken medical jelly,” said Zim. He smiled down at Dib. “The good stuff.”

“What’s so good about it?”

“It cleans your wounds and accelerates healing,” Zim explained. “It was vital to our victory against Callnowia — we had soldiers in and out of medical tents so fast, it was like we had an infinite supply of fighters. Now, we don’t need it as much, since our PAKs heal us even faster. But, it’s still good to have around. It can be very useful.”

“Even for humans?” asked Dib, a little nervous. Not everything in space worked for him like it did for everyone else. One of the downsides to being the only member of his race to travel beyond his solar system. 

“Yes, don’t worry,” said Zim. “It’s safe.”

“How do you know?” asked Dib, still suspicious.

Zim continued to dab the jelly on the two cuts on Dib’s cheeks. He cleaned the metal tool with some kind of wipe, dipped it back in the jar, then went to dab it against the abrasion under Dib’s eye. He paused. 

“This will hurt,” said Zim.

“Yeah, I know that now, genius,” grumbled Dib. Zim shrugged, then dabbed the jelly onto Dib’s face. Dib gave a little cry that he tried not to be too embarrassed about. Zim looked down at him, surprised.

“I told you this time,” he said.

“Didn’t make it hurt any less,” snapped Dib. 

Instead of looking angry, though, Zim just gave him an affirming nod.

“You are feeling better,” he said.

Dib considered this. He _was_ feeling a little better. His head wasn’t as foggy, and his body was more responsive when he tried to move. He lifted his feet off the chair and set them down on the floor, then pushed off the floor with his good arm so that he was sitting up. His bad arm didn’t look any less gruesome, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. It was still numb. 

“I do feel better,” he noted. “What was in that shot you gave me?”

“I will explain later. If you’re well enough now, we should get back to your ship.”

Dib nodded, then groaned at the headache that bloomed as a result. Zim peered at him, his chin in his hand. He stood up and walked behind Dib to the other side of the kitchen. Dib didn’t turn to see what he was doing, afraid that moving his head any more might make the headache worse. He heard a faucet running, and then Zim was back, holding a glass filled with a clear liquid. A mechanical arm appeared from his PAK, holding a big, white tablet. Zim dropped it in the liquid, where it fizzed and dissolved. 

“I need water,” said Dib, afraid that Zim was offering him some irken drink that might disintegrate his insides.

Zim scowled. “This _is_ water,” he snapped. “I have been with you for how long, and you think I don’t know that your silly, pathetic body needs water?” 

Dib blushed a little, but held his ground. “Hey, I don’t know how much you pay attention.”

Zim shoved the glass at him. “Now you do.” 

Dib was too thirsty to argue. He downed the water in a few quick gulps. The relief was instant, and Dib even gave a satisfied “ahhh.” 

Zim watched him, antennae perked. 

“You feel better?”

Dib nodded, and, despite the current situation, he felt himself smile. 

“Hey,” he said. “Thanks for fixing me up.”

Zim returned the smile. “You’re not fixed up yet, Dib-human. This will only last a few more minutes. We need to get back—”

Zim froze, and an instant later the front door, which was on the opposite side of the room, facing the window they’d busted through, swung open. Dib went to turn and look at who was there, but he got stuck on the look of absolute horror on Zim’s face. 

The smell of garbage filled the apartment.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Zim moved faster than Dib had ever seen him. He snagged both the medical bag and Dib, lifting them into the air with his spider legs and hauling them back through the broken window. They landed hard on the ground outside, Zim stumbling on his PAK legs and crying out as he landed. Dib crawled over to where Zim was hunched over and put a hand on his shoulder. From inside the apartment, Dib could hear the sound of hysterical, screechy laughter. 

“Are you okay? What just happened? Who is that?” asked Dib. Zim looked up at him, his face pale. 

“Go,” said Zim.

“What?”

“I said, go!” hissed Zim as he threw the medical bag at Dib, who just managed to catch it in his good hand. “Go find this.”

“Find… _what_?” asked Dib.

Zim pointed to the bag — no, pointed to the insignia on the bag.

“Get to your ship and go back the way we came toward the Cesspool and find a building with this on it. Tell them you are hurt and need treatment. Time is of the essence. You need to go _now_.”

“Zim, what’s going on?”

“Yes, Zim. What _is_ going on?”

Dib looked up. An irken, smaller than Dib but a bit taller than Zim, stood on the dining table in the apartment. She looked at Zim through the smashed window, her arms crossed. She wore a similar uniform to what Zim had on, but her tunic was purple, and longer in the back than in the front. She had some kind of metal tube implanted in her forehead. From what Dib could see, it looped around and reattached on the side. Her eyes were a deep purple and her antennae were long and curly. She laughed again, this time only a little snicker. Dib jumped to his feet.

“Finally made it off Foodcourtia?” she asked. “And now, you’ve come back to finish what I started? You know, I'm only back here because of _you_.” 

“Tak,” Zim spat. “You’re looking… dirty.”

“You know each other?” asked Dib as he looked between Zim and the stranger, whose name was apparently Tak.

“And you’ve found yourself a companion,” cooed Tak. “How nice for you. So tall, too.”  


“He was just leaving,” said Zim.

Tak looked at Dib, sizing him up. Dib paused, unsure of whether he should grab Zim and run or stand his ground. He looked at Zim, who was still sitting down. His metal legs, shorter and sparking at the joints, were slowly receding into his PAK. 

“Shame,” Dib heard, and he turned back up toward the window. Tak was still looking at him. “I would have liked for him watch me destroy you.” 

Zim growled and picked himself up off the ground. He shakily stepped between Tak and Dib. He put a hand on Dib’s chest and pushed him backward, his eyes never leaving the irken in the window.

“ _Go_ ,” growled Zim, and Dib felt his stomach clench up. He turned and ran as fast as he could.

 

**iii.**

Dib knew it was a gamble leaving Zim alone, but, if Zim was serious, he only had a few more minutes left before the medicine in his body stopped working. He’d be no help in that condition, and he certainly wasn’t going to ditch Zim to go find a hospital. No, this way, he could grab his ship and swoop back in, hopefully before Zim got killed or his treatment wore off. Dib got goosebumps thinking about that stranger whose apartment they’d broken into. Fighting a rock monster sounded like child’s play compared to fighting a scorned irken, and apparently Zim had done something even worse than breaking in and using all of her medical supplies. Dib wondered fleetingly what Zim had done to piss off _this_ enemy, but he thought better of it. He should just focus on running. He knew he had just under a mile to go, and, if he hurried, he could get back to Zim in just a few minutes. 

Already exhausted and injured, Dib did his best scrambling through the trees. Eventually, he finally made it to _The Mothman_ , and, boy, if his ship wasn’t a sight for sore eyes. Dib climbed into the pilot’s seat and took off, feeling a little lightheaded but trying to stay focused. Steering with one good hand and one numb hand proved difficult, but he did his best as he blasted over the woods at top speed. He flew back the way he had come, searching desperately for any signs of Zim or Tak. It didn’t take long to find them; with the windshield still open, Dib could hear the sound of shooting lasers and screaming as he approached the apartment building. He hoped that Zim’s metal legs were healed enough so that he could properly fight back.

Finally, he found Zim and Tak. They hadn’t made it far from the apartment, but Tak was now outside, firing lasers at Zim through the tips of her PAK legs. Zim was gracelessly running away on his own spider legs. As Dib approached, he could see Tak gaining on Zim as he dashed down a narrow path that led through the woods, connecting the apartment building to a small town square. 

Dib floated above them, unsure of how to intervene. Zim and Tak clearly hadn’t seen him, so the question now was how he was going to get Zim’s attention without alerting Tak. If he could just signal Zim somehow, he could swoop in and Zim would be ready to jump into his ship. If Tak saw him coming, though, a safe getaway would be significantly less likely. Suddenly, Dib remembered the medical bag on the floor. A plan formed in his brain as he dug through the bag and found the jar of pink medical jelly. He dipped _The Mothman_ as low as he dared and tried to aim with his good arm at the ground right in front of where Zim was running. He was throwing with his non-dominant arm, thought, so he missed by a few feet and hit Zim square in the forehead. From where he was floating, he could hear Zim’s surprised scream.

Zim looked down and spotted the offending jar on the ground just in front of him. His head whipped up and he froze for a second as he made eye contact with Dib. Dib pointed at the woods, toward one of the taller trees just off the path Zim was on. He swooped downward as Zim dove into the forest. Dib lost sight of him for a second, but then, there he was, standing on one of the higher branches and waving his arms at Dib. From below, Tak had disappeared into the woods as well, still in search of her prey. 

Dib surged down toward Zim, steering with his numb hand and reaching for Zim with the other. He clasped his hand around Zim’s wrist and felt Zim holding on to his, and, for a second, his shoulders sank with relief as he steered _The Mothman_ upward and stared into Zim’s wide, wild eyes. His peace died with the sound of Zim shrieking up at him, and he looked down to see Tak had leapt into the air behind them and now had a hand around one of Zim’s ankles. The three of them zig-zagged through the air as Dib tried desperately to steer with his bad hand, which, he realized, was starting to ache with returned feeling. Zim barely held Tak at bay by kicking wildly at her with his free foot, but she wasn’t letting go. Desperate, Dib yanked Zim halfway into the cockpit and let Zim grab him around the waist. He pulled his hand free from Zim’s hold and reached for Tak, who now had both arms wrapped around Zim’s knees. Dib steeled himself for a moment before getting two fingers between Tak’s head and her implant and pulling as hard as he could. 

Tak’s face, twisted with pain and rage, disappeared from view as she released Zim and fell into the woods below them, her scream fading as she dropped. Dib stared, horrified, while Zim scrambled the rest of the way into the ship. They stood next to each other, panting. Dib leveled out _The Mothman_ and closed the windshield. 

The ship fell into silence. Dib released the iron grip he’d had on the yoke and went to look at his bad arm, which was aching even more persistently now. Before he had a chance to look down, though, he felt Zim throw an arm around his shoulders and plant a foot on his thigh, scrambling up his body until they were at eye level. He grabbed a handful of the hair on top of Dib’s head. Instinctively, Dib took him around the waist with both arms, trying to keep them both balanced despite his surprise and the force of Zim’s climb. A soft irken mouth mashed against his own as Zim’s legs wrapped more firmly around his waist, and Dib’s eyes went wide with shock. Zim kissed him again and again, hard little pecks on his lips until he pulled back and pressed his forehead against Dib’s. He exhaled sharply, and Dib thought, not for the first time, that Zim’s breath smelled like sour candy. 

“Thank you,” whispered Zim, his eyes tightly shut.

Dib cracked a smile, feeling almost dazed with relief and affection. A second later, a crippling pain in his arm surged so suddenly that he crashed down to the floor, taking Zim down with him.


	4. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will not ask you where you came from. I will not ask, and neither should you. Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do." - Hozier  
> 

**i.**

Zim’s antennae were on the smaller side, as far as Dib knew. They bounced and twitched while he talked, sometimes in unison, sometimes independently. When they were neutral, like now, they rested on the back of his head. Not totally flat, because that meant he was mad, but, more relaxed-looking. They were black, like every other irken’s, but they weren’t shiny like Sizz-Lorr’s had been. Dib wondered if that was a preference thing, like how humans want to style their hair, or if it was health-related. Zim had way too much energy to be malnourished, but he did almost exclusively eat junk food. Even Dib knew that irkens needed more variety in their diets than that. Zim’s antenna twitched up, and he gave a “hmm” of concentration. Dib tried not to look down, and decided to focus on something else.

Zim didn’t have a nose, but he had a little bump in his profile that suggested that he had something there — some kind of organ that needed bone, or a nose-adjacent piece of cartilage, to protect it. Dib realized he could just barely make out a slit below his eye, running diagonally atop the nose-like bump. A nostril? Dib had seen Zim sniff before, but it was always in indignation or disgust, and never really to smell. Dib wondered if maybe he used his nostrils to breathe, but not to smell. But based on what he knew about irken anatomy (which wasn’t much), he had to imagine that Zim had something akin to an earth snake’s vomeronasal organ — a secondary smeller that made up for what he lacked. 

Once, when they were wrestling, Dib landed a solid punch right below Zim’s eye, and it had popped out. His whole eyeball, plus some weird kind of wire that kept it attached to the inside of his head. Popped right out. Zim pushed it back in like it was a contact lens. He had told Dib that, before advanced technology and selective breeding and all that, irkens had terrible eyesight, and they relied mostly on their other senses to hunt and breed. That was probably why his antennae were both olfactory and auditory organs, and why he had that little nose, even if he didn’t need it as much any more. A little disappointed, Dib had asked if Zim’s ocular implants were totally synthetic. Because, he liked Zim’s eyes, and up until then he had kind of figured Zim had grown them himself. Zim had assured him that “my flawless eye color” was completely natural, which had made Dib kind of want to punch him again. And then Zim went on to tell Dib how inferior his glasses were, and Dib tackled him back down to the floor just to shut him up. 

Zim’s eyes were nice, though. Nicer than anyone else’s Dib had seen. Big and expressive, even though he didn’t have pupils or irises. A pretty claret color that Dib knew was common for irkens, but Zim’s were different, somehow. They glowed a little in the dark sometimes, like when they were in Dib’s bedroom watching something on his laptop and the screen went dark and there was no light in the room except for that magenta glow coming from Zim’s eyes and the gentle pink light coming from his PAK. It was like Zim was a living nightlight. Not that Dib had ever needed a nightlight — he wasn’t afraid of the dark, and he never had been. What self-respecting paranormal investigator was afraid of a little darkness, when there was so much other crap to be afraid of? It was just nice, sometimes, to lie down and fall asleep in Zim's soft light while he sat next to you, watching a TV show or browsing through your photo library. 

Zim’s skin was, well, it was different. Green. But it didn’t have the texture of, like, a lizard’s skin, or even that of a human’s skin. Only Zim’s head and neck were ever really exposed; the rest of him was covered up by his Invader’s uniform. Right now, though, he had on a different pair of gloves: translucent ones in that classic shade of Irken pink that he had fished out of Tak’s medical bag, because his rubber gloves were too dirty. Dib could see Zim’s hands, from his narrow wrists to the hard, sharp nails that had been buried in his hair not long ago. He wondered if Zim’s hands had the same texture as the other parts of his body he’d already felt. 

Dib had felt Zim’s skin under his palm only a handful of times, when they were sparring or whatever. Dib remembered exactly what it had felt like to have Zim’s face in his hand, even if Dib had been trying to push him away at the time. It was smooth and soft, but also very dry, and it felt thin against Dib’s hand. Like he only had one little layer of skin covering up his muscles and bones. Dib stared at Zim’s face, thinking that he actually liked the green, a lot. It suited Zim. He blushed and shifted in his seat a little as he wondered if Zim was the same shade of green all over his body, or if he had any birthmarks or tan lines or anything. He tried to keep his mind from wandering to what it would be like to find out, but it was difficult. They had just kissed, after all. 

Dib shifted again, trying not to get carried away, when Zim snapped his head around and stared him right in the eye.

“It is imperative that you hold still,” said Zim.

“Sorry,” said Dib, trying not to look like he was having weird, unwholesome thoughts right now.

Zim kept looking at him and sighed before turning back to his work, mumbling something about almost being done. Dib wondered what was going through Zim’s head right now. Was he thinking about kissing, too? Was he upset about Dib’s arm? Dib knew he should probably be hoping that Zim was thinking about the task at hand, but a really big part of him hoped that he was thinking at least a _little_ bit about kissing. He wondered if irkens ever kissed. He knew it wasn’t exclusive to humans, which was kind of weird but also kind of reassuring. Like, as different as he was from all the other types of life forms out there, he still shared some stuff with them. Like shabby gift shops and fast food, kissing had existed on other planets way before humans had discovered it. Maybe kissing was actually a universal phenomenon, or maybe an alien had come to earth hundreds of thousands of years ago and taught early humans how to do it. _That_ would be interesting. Maybe, then, human-alien relations weren’t just Dib’s thing. 

Dib chastised himself for letting his mind wander, again, to inappropriate places. Great. Now he was supposed to distract himself from his most interesting distraction. He had already memorized every inch of Zim’s profile, but it was still fun to look at him— Zim licked his lips. Okay, maybe it was too much fun looking at Zim. Dib gave a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair, making a face when he realized how greasy and dirty it was. He stared at the ceiling, wondering how gross he must look right now. He looked forward, through the doorframe and into the bedroom. The sight of his bed made him realize how tired he was. He was tired enough that he could probably sleep for a couple of days, once all this was over. “All this” had been going on for almost two hours, and, as much as Zim kept reassuring him that he was almost done, Dib got the feeling that they had a while longer to go. He considered looking, but then he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he realized he was being watched.

Zim was staring at him, his eyes big and unblinking. The intensity of his stare startled Dib, and he hopped in his seat a little bit. He reached back for something to lean on and found the lever behind him, pushing it without thinking and flushing the toilet. Zim jumped at the sound. He put the forceps he was using next to Dib’s open arm and gave a world-weary sigh.

“This would be a lot easier if you had a medical bay,” said Zim.

“Yeah, well…” Dib gestured to his bathroom, their makeshift OR. “This is what I got.” 

Zim wasn’t wrong (but neither was Dib): this wasn’t ideal. Dib had been sitting on the toilet lid for a while now, with Zim sat sideways on his lap. A handful of surgical tools were hanging from metal arms that extended out of his PAK. Dib’s forearm was laid on the counter of his vanity sink, and Zim was hunched over the wound, debriding it now that he’d removed all the dirt and Game Slave pieces. Dib had been avoiding looking at his arm while Zim picked away at it, but it had been some time, and he figured a quick peek wouldn’t be too bad. He was wrong. Looking down at his arm, he saw that Zim had spread it open with a retractor, and he could see all the way down to the bone. Zim had given Dib some homemade local anesthetic, so Dib couldn’t feel anything in his arm, but his stomach still rolled at the sight. That, combined with the sink full of bloody bits of metal and dirt, was really something out of a horror movie. His head felt light, and he swallowed down stubborn stomach bile that had been trying to escape ever since they broke out of Dirt’s atmosphere and started surgery. 

Zim watched him, then followed Dib’s gaze back to the wound. Zim reached to the other edge of the sink, where Dib’s toothbrush and lens cleaner had been shoved and where a few vials of medicine were still unopened. Zim grabbed one that was filled with a viscous brown liquid and uncorked it with his teeth. He sat back down on Dib’s lap and offered the vial. 

“What’s it for?” asked Dib.

“Nausea.”  


“How do you know it’ll work for me?” asked Dib, for what must have been the hundredth time. Zim had pumped more alien medicine into Dib’s body over the past few hours than he thought possible, but it had all done its job, at least, as far as Dib knew. He was still skeptical as he stared at a liquid that looked like honey but smelled like burnt hair.

“Must you ask me this every time?” asked Zim, exasperated, as he took Dib by the chin and pushed lip of the vial against his mouth. “Just drink it.”

“Stop!” snapped Dib, leaning away.

“Do you want relief from your nausea or do you want to puke again, Dib-puke?”

“I don’t want to go blind because you’re feeding me poison!”

“It’s not poison,” huffed Zim, still holding the vial up to Dib’s mouth. “Just _drink it_.”

“Fine,” said Dib, and he let his mouth drop open. He glared as Zim tipped the liquid into his mouth. It didn’t really taste like anything, and the second it hit his stomach, he actually _did_ feel a little less nauseated. Zim smiled at him, looking very satisfied.

“How can you be so sure that none of this stuff is going to kill me?” 

Zim shrugged, a gesture that did nothing to comfort Dib. 

“Irken medicine relies heavily on the recipient’s biological code. I extracted some of yours and made a solution that I can combine with anything. Once I realized your kind need all that blood stuff to survive, I whipped up that—” he pointed to one of the bigger vials on the counter, filled with a red liquid that he’d injected into Dib’s neck, “—as well as a few other treatments, because I’m a genius and because I figured it might come in handy.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Dib, still catching up as Zim turned back to working on his arm. “You… use DNA to treat people? That… that’s so cool! No wonder I’m not dead right now!”

Zim gave a noncommittal hum, like this medical feat wasn’t that exciting. And maybe, to him, it wasn’t. 

“So, wait, how did you learn to do all that stuff?” asked Dib.

“Hmm. We start in the academy, learning how to do basic stuff like make medical jelly and mend bones. Once you’re selected to become an Invader, you learn all the advanced medicine, like how to regrow limbs and stuff like that.” Zim’s chest puffed out a bit at the word “Invader,” and Dib felt a twinge of affection. 

“Wait, so… the medical jelly you used on my face before?”

“That stuff reacts with whatever code it touches. That’s why it hurts to apply — it kinda, eh, burns your skin off a little bit. At first. Then it heals it back up.”

“Oh.” Dib thought about the vial that had popped out of Zim’s PAK when they were in Tak’s apartment.

“So, you made the stuff out of my DNA and kept it in your PAK this whole time?” asked Dib, the gears turning in his head as he stared at Zim, who was still working on his arm. 

“Heh, yep.”

“Even when you left me behind on Dirt and supposedly would never see me again?” 

Zim paused what he was doing, and he turned to look at Dib. Their eyes met, and Zim looked away, his face a little… flushed? Could irkens blush? Or was Dib just imagining that Zim’s face had gotten a little pinker, a little warmer?

“I knew you’d come,” murmured Zim. He went back to work, his face still that unfamiliar but pretty shade of green. 

This time, Dib blushed, too. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Of course I did.” 

“You’re lying.”

“ _You’re_ lying!” Zim growled and smashed a fist on the countertop, right next to Dib’s hand. Dib pulled back instinctively, holding his injured arm to his chest. Zim took a couple of deep breaths, then gently took Dib’s hand and repositioned his arm on the counter. He went back to work. Silence filled the bathroom.

“You’re not gonna leave again, are you?” asked Dib, feeling childish but not caring. “The deal’s back on?”

“Yes,” said Zim. “The deal is back on. I will stay.”

Dib sighed a little. He was still frustrated, though, as a nagging thought made itself known once more.

“I told you it was a trap,” said Dib, “and you didn’t listen to me. We could have avoided this whole thing if you had just listened.” 

Zim kept working, but the hand he had on Dib’s wrist to hold him down migrated to his hand. They both watched as Zim placed his hand overtop Dib’s, lacing their fingers together. Dib held his breath as Zim slid three digits between his four and rubbed his thumb along the side of Dib’s hand. He could only see it, since his arm was still numb from the elbow down. 

“This would be much easier,” said Zim softly, “if you had a medical bay.”

Dib’s chest felt tight. Zim squeezed his hand. They sat in silence for a moment, and Zim squeezed his hand again. 

“I…” started Zim. A pause. “It would be quicker. And less painful. If you had one.” 

“This is all we’ve got.” 

Zim squeezed his eyes shut. He hunched over Dib’s arm, blocking it from Dib’s view. 

Slowly, Dib placed his other hand on Zim’s back, under his PAK. He rested the side of his face on the top of Zim’s head. To his surprise, Zim didn’t flinch away.

“Hey. It’s okay. Just… listen to me next time, okay?” said Dib. “We’ve gotta be, like… partners, you know? We do okay when we work together.” 

It was true. Maybe they weren’t a well-oiled machine, but they’d only known each other a couple of months and they’d already gotten themselves out of a few tough situations. They’d escaped Foodcourtia, fought off rock monsters, and defeated angry irkens together. They spent weeks on a ship with only each other for company, and as much as Dib hated Zim sometimes, he knew that there was no one else in the entire universe he could tolerate for half as long. Not to mention, Zim was the only person he'd ever met to tolerate _Dib_ for so long. He wondered if Zim felt the same way. 

“I… suppose I can agree to those terms,” said Zim. He shifted so that he was leaning into Dib’s chest, and Dib was happy to wrap his good arm around Zim’s waist and pull him closer. They fell back into silence. Despite the circumstances, Dib felt warmer than he had in a long time. He’d been cuddled before — after sex, sometimes, and a few rare instances when his father had wrapped him up in a hug. None of it had ever felt like this. With Zim, this was something more than seeking comfort from a parent or trying to maintain a physical connection that was already over. This felt more significant, more deep. All Dib had ever wanted was to be appreciated for trying to protect people, and he’d finally gotten it. He didn’t even care that it came in the form of Zim’s genuine but unspoken apology and an awkward hug on a toilet. He squeezed Zim tighter, thinking that he would make this last as long as possible. They stayed like that for a few moments, before Dib broke the silence. He had to.

“It’s hurting again,” he said

One of Zim’s antennae perked up at Dib’s words and lightly slapped against Dib’s jaw. He pushed off Dib’s chest and wiggled out of his hold. He scooted himself back over to where Dib’s arm was still on the counter, open and raw and red. Zim reached for the anesthetic on the counter, then reached down to where Tak’s medical bag was on the floor and grabbed a fresh needle. Wordlessly, he shot more of the numbing agent into the vein inside Dib’s elbow. Dib watched as Zim continued to remove the dead tissue inside his arm. Zim paused and looked over at Dib for a second, a little smile on his face as he turned back to his work.

“Once, in the academy, I had to fight the Digestor. Spent a week in the hospital growing my legs back.”

Dib baulked. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Wait,” said Dib, “what’s the Digestor?”

Zim smiled wistfully. “The Digestor is the monster we fight to prove our worth to the Empire.”

“What happens if you lose?”

“You die,” said Zim simply. 

“You _die_?” Dib knew that the Empire was unforgiving and brutal, but, really? They kill their own people like that?

“Yep.” 

Zim’s casual attitude about the Digestor was almost as jarring as the fact that he almost got killed by it just to please his own leaders. Dib swallowed. Every time Zim told him something about Irk, it made the whole Empire sound more and more like a nightmare, run by apathetic leaders and creepy computer-brains. 

“How did you survive, then, if you had no legs?” asked Dib.

“Had an old sandwich in my PAK.” 

Dib just shook his head. Of course. 

“One time, I had to fight off a bunch of zombies. It was nuts,” offered Dib.

“Zombies are… the blood sucking ones?” asked Zim.

“You’re thinking of vampires,” said Dib with a chuckle. “Zombies are the undead ones.”

“Hmm. How did they un-die?” asked Zim, his eyes still on Dib’s arm but his antennae perking with interest.

“Uh, well. I kinda resurrected them,” Dib chuckled awkwardly. "I only meant to reanimate one or two, but I got carried away and ended up with an entire hoard of 'em up in my bedroom. It was so bad, I got grounded for a month."

Zim laughed, too. “Pitiful,” he said, but there was no real bite to the insult.

All this talk had sparked a fresh curiosity in Dib.

“Hey, speaking of monsters: how did you take down the rock thing?” 

“It has an air pocket—” Zim dropped his tool, leaned back, and poked Dib in the center of his chest, “—right there. The bomb had enough power to break through to it, which made the whole thing fall apart.” 

“Huh,” said Dib. “So why didn’t you throw it when it first formed, then?” 

“I was, uh, waiting for the right time,” Zim turned back to his work.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” asked Dib dryly.

“I did not!” huffed Zim. 

“Mhm. How’d you know about the air pocket?” 

“I researched them in academy,” said Zim. 

“Oh, like the space whale? Wait, so the gorignak didn’t have a planet of origin?”

“No,” hummed Zim.

“How’d it end up on Dirt, then?” asked Dib.

“Uhh… I’unno,” muttered Zim, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand.

Dib leaned back in his seat. 

“So, how did you know Tak, then?” he asked. 

“Oh, the Tak-beast came to Foodcourtia a while back to blame me for her horrible life or whatever. I can’t really remember the details,” said Zim, flippant.

“Oh. Huh.” Dib wondered how many other people blamed Zim for their horrible lives. 

“Did I tell you about the time I went to Blorch and fought off a colony of Slaughtering Rat People?” asked Zim.

They fell into easy conversation, trading stories about monsters they’d fought and adventures they’d had. They challenged each other’s tales with playful one-upping and banter, and, before Dib knew it, Zim was tossing his tools into the sink and wiping sweat off his forehead. Hesitantly, he looked at Dib.

“One thing left to do,” he said.

Dib arched a brow. “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?” he asked.

“It’s gonna hurt.” 

Dib felt his shoulders sag a little bit, but he tried not to show his disappointment. Zim eyed him as he reached across the counter for a vial that he hadn’t used yet. The liquid inside was pink and iridescent, not unlike the medical jelly Zim had used on him at Tak's apartment.

“That’s fine,” said Dib, trying to be tough. He _was_ tough. He’d been to hell and back getting Zim out of trouble, and he wasn’t about to turn into a baby now.

“It’s going to hurt a lot,” said Zim.

“Just do it.”

Zim used a tool that looked like an eyedropper to remove a tiny amount of the medicine from the vial. He removed the retractor that was keeping the wound open and gave Dib a light pat on the hand. He squeezed a droplet of medicine into the wound, and Dib did his best not to cry out.

“Are you… sure that’s safe for me?” he choked out.

Zim, antennae laid flat on his head, gave an “mhm” of confirmation. 

“Because…” It really fucking hurts, is what Dib wanted to say. But he trusted that Zim knew what he was doing, and he didn’t want to make an ass of himself and be embarrassed about it later. He sighed, trying to focus on the sharp line of Zim’s jaw and not the horrible, stabbing pain that he was feeling in his arm. When that didn’t work, he sifted through his brain for more questions — maybe, if he could strike up a conversation again, he could take his mind off this?

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing because he also sounded like he was about to cry, “when did you get a sample of my DNA, anyway?” 

Zim opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He turned a tiny bit toward Dib and caught his eye briefly before turning back to his work. A smug, evil little smile formed on his face.

“Oh, a few weeks ago. While you were sleeping.”

“While I was sleeping?” Creepy. “You took a blood sample?” Dib didn’t remember waking up to any finger pricks, not recently or, really, at any point since Zim had come aboard _The Mothman_. 

“Hmmm. No. Not necessary.” 

“So, what?” asked Dib, nervous about how weird and secretive and smug Zim was being. “You clipped off part of my fingernail or something?”  


“Nope. Also not necessary.”

“Okay, what then? A swab of my cheek? What did you do?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything, human. Like I said: I didn't need to. By the time I got into your room, you had _more_ than enough of your code spilled all over your sheets.”

Dib froze, all thoughts of his arm gone from his mind. He didn’t like what Zim was implying, and he felt his cheeks warming at the thought. He tried to play it cool. 

“I really don’t know what you mean by that.”

Zim eyed him again, still smiling, a single antenna perked playfully. “I think you do.”

“I don’t!”

“You do.” 

“Nuh _uh_!”

Zim, turned back to his work, dropping a little more serum into Dib’s arm.

“I can tell by the color of your face that you _do_ know what I’m talking about, filthy Dib.”

Dib felt his stomach flip. He tried to think back to a time when he might have had an… exciting dream. He couldn’t really remember. Sure, it had been a while since he’d last been with anyone, but it wasn’t like he was a teenager anymore. Just because he was going through a dry spell doesn’t mean he would have a wet dream and then just, not remember, right? He wanted to get angry for the invasion of privacy, but he just felt embarrassed. He figured he might as well just try to own it, though.

“Fine, then. Sorry for being human. What were you doing in my room while I was sleeping, anyway?” 

“You were shouting my name. I thought you were summoning me.” 

Oh, come on. 

“You’re lying.” 

Zim kept on grinning as he worked on Dib’s arm. “Nope, not lying.” 

“Yes, you _—”_

Wait. Now he remembered. 

It had been a while ago, probably at least a month. Dib had been sitting in the co-pilot’s chair and bouncing his leg, and Zim had been yelling at him for it. They had argued a little before Zim offered to spar with him, and Dib had agreed. It was the first time they’d wrestled, and the first time in a while that Dib had experienced prolonged physical contact with anybody. Zim had taught him some simple fighting techniques and then pinned him to the ground about a hundred times before Dib stormed off to take a shower. At the time, it had just been frustrating fighting someone who probably had decades of experience on him. Once he fell asleep, though. Different story. 

It didn’t help that he found Zim really attractive or that he’d been aching to kiss him since they’d met (the first one, he’d decided, didn’t count). It also didn’t help that he was into being roughed up a little during sex, and Zim had certainly roughed him up. And, _again_ , he hadn’t been with anyone like that in a long time, and he hadn’t even taken care of himself in a while, either. So, really, it was kind of a perfect storm and not totally Dib’s fault that he went to sleep that night and dreamt of Zim, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him and pinning his hands down and kissing him on the neck and—

Dib shifted in his seat, trying not to react to the bolt of heat that just shot through him. He suddenly _really_ wished he had a med bay. One with a real operating room where the doctor didn’t have to sit on the patient’s lap. Dib shifted again. Zim’s smile grew into a full-on Cheshire Cat grin.

“You remember?”

“Shut up.”

Zim laughed, a mean little chuckle.

“I would have let you have your privacy if you had not been so… _vocal_.” 

“Please just shut up,” Dib couldn’t even look at Zim, and his face was hot with an embarrassed blush.

“You just kept shouting _my name_ —”

“I’m asking you nicely to _please_ —”

“—and I just had to come and see what all the fuss was about—”

“—I don’t want to talk about this—”

“—and by the time I got to your room, well, I realized you were dreaming—”

“Please, stop,” Dib whined.

“Hmm. It kind of sounded like that, although you weren’t asking me to _stop_.”

“Oh my _god_ , Zim,” Dib all but shouted.

“Yes, yes. A lot of that, too. Shouts to your deity and whatnot. Well, I’m done here.”

Surprised, Dib looked down and realized that his arm was mended. No stitches or anything — it was totally healed! He lifted it off the counter and held it in front of his face, admiring it from a few angles. Some of the numbness was still there, but, other than that, it was like nothing had happened. He squinted, looking as hard as he could over the skin of his wrist and forearm. Not a single scar. He laughed. 

“Wow,” he said. “It looks great!”

“Yes, yes, of course it does,” said Zim, but Dib could sense that Zim was feeling just as relieved as he was that this whole thing was finally over. Dib, too, felt almost loopy with relief, and appreciation swelled in his chest. He looked down at Zim, who was removing his gloves and tossing them onto the counter.

Zim took Dib by the arm, admiring his handiwork. He ducked down and pressed a quick kiss to his forearm, right where the bone had been exposed a few minutes ago. He looked over at Dib’s surprised face, then flushed a little.

“This is… how the humans do, yes? To make it better?”

Dib was a little dumbfounded, but he nodded, and he felt himself smile.

“Hey,” Dib said. “Sorry, um, if I did anything that made you uncomfortable. Maybe we can just forget the whole thing?”

“Uncomfortable? Oh, you mean— heh, no need to worry about that.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I made that up,” said Zim with a shrug, and every ounce of goodwill Dib had toward him evaporated.

“Are you serious?” he asked, resisting the urge to just push Zim off his lap. “Why would you lie about something like that? That’s so creepy!”

Zim shrugged. “You were in pain. You needed a distraction. I used an embarrassing story to take your mind off your arm. Ingenious, no?”

Dib paused. Well. It had kind of worked. For a while there, Dib forgot about how badly that pink stuff was hurting him, because he was too busy thinking about how humiliated he was. 

“That was… nice of you. In a really mean kind of way.”

“Yes, I know. I can be quite benevolent when the mood strikes.” 

Dib laughed a little, and suddenly he didn’t care that Zim had just embarrassed the crap out of him. It didn’t really seem to matter anymore.

“Fine, then. How _did_ you get my DNA?” he asked, still curious.

Zim threw his hands into the air in sudden outrage, a mood swing that Dib had gotten used to.

“What do you think, human? Your disgusting hair-stuff! It’s everywhere! I hate it!” Zim ranted on about Dib’s hair, but Dib just found himself laughing along. Zim only got more excited in the face of Dib’s laughter, going on about how disgusting he was with a huge grin on his face. When he finally wore himself out and Dib stopped laughing, they just stared at each other, panting a little with big smiles on their faces. Dib cupped Zim’s face with one hand and let out a nervous giggle. He swiped a thumb under Zim’s big ruby eye. His eyes darted down to Zim’s mouth.

At first glance, most irkens look like they don’t even have lips. Zim was no exception, but, with his face only a few inches away, Dib could plainly see the outline of Zim’s mouth. He had no philtrum, no double curve in his upper lip, so his lips looked almost exactly the same; the lower one, maybe, was a little fuller. His mouth was only a shade or two darker than the rest of his face and, if Dib remembered correctly, it was very soft. He wanted to check again, though, just to be sure. He leaned down a bit, so their faces were only about an inch apart. Zim looked up at him, still panting a bit from his rant, or maybe from the proximity. 

“Can I—?” started Dib.

“Yes.” 

Dib hesitated, nervous, before tilting his head a little and pressing his lips to Zim’s.

It was nothing like their previous two kisses — hard and impulsive, with no real intent but to make contact. This time, Dib aimed to be softer, slower, as he sandwiched Zim’s bottom lip between his and pressed lightly. He wrapped Zim up in his other arm, hugging him closer in their awkward sideways embrace. He held the kiss for a few seconds before pulling back. His heart thudded in his chest as Zim followed him, resting his hands on Dib’s shoulders and reconnecting them. 

They kissed for a while, pressing chaste pecks onto each other’s mouths. As badly as Dib wanted to push things farther, to taste the inside of Zim’s mouth and feel an alien lip between his teeth, he knew this thing they were doing was too new for that. He felt it in his own hesitation and in Zim’s shaking hands on his shoulders. He let Zim put his hands in his hair and over his face, enjoying the feeling of gloveless palms on his cheeks, thumbs tracing around his ears, fingers running through his hair. He sighed, not wanting to break away. But, he knew he had to. With the stress of his arm gone, he was finally starting to realized just how exhausted he was. 

He pulled back, taking Zim by the wrists and kissing him lightly on one of his palms. Zim inhaled sharply at the contact before leaning in to peck Dib on the cheek. Then, he pulled back just enough so that they were looking into each other’s faces. He sighed, resting his forehead against Dib's.

“You should sleep,” he said.

“Yeah,” breathed Dib. “I’m tired.”

“I should—” Zim hopped off his lap and brushed himself off. Dib stretched and stood up, his whole body feeling sore and stiff. As he went to walk out of the bathroom, he glanced into the mirror over the sink and grimaced at the sight.

Zim had pulled him out of his trench coat a while ago, but he still had on his lucky t-shirt and his blue jeans, both of which were caked with dried mud. His chin was covered in uneven stubble. His hair was matted on top of his head, and that big, uncontrollable cowlick was flopped sideways, sticky with mud and sweat. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and his glasses were smudged. He looked down at Zim, who was watching him, and he almost wanted to laugh at the fact that their first real kiss together happened when they both looked like they’d been mud wrestling with a bear. 

“I have a little laundry unit in the storage closet,” said Dib. “You can use it, if you want.”

“Oh,” Zim looked down at his uniform, as if he’d just realized that he was also covered in dirt. “Yes, well. Thank you for offering. But I don’t have anything else to wear.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“That’s okay,” said Dib, and he staggered a little on his feet, one of which had fallen asleep. He rifled through a few drawers in his dresser before producing an old pair of gym shorts and a sweatshirt from his college. He offered them to Zim.

“You can wear these.” 

Zim only hesitated for a second before taking the clothes from Dib. He inspected them, first the blue shorts that were a little too short on Dib, then the sweatshirt, worn and comfy and purple, that Dib’s father had gifted him on the day he moved out. Zim looked up at Dib, his antennae perked with interest. 

“I suppose these will do,” he said, and Dib laughed a little.

“You’re welcome.”

“Hm.”

With that sorted, all Dib really wanted to do was go to sleep. He made his way over to his bed, stumbling out of his jeans and tugging off his t-shirt. He left his clothes on the floor as he flopped on top of his mattress, not bothering to get under the sheets.

“Human,” said Zim, and Dib grunted. “You will get cold like that.” 

Dib was too tired to care that Zim was just seeing him in pink ghost-print boxers, or that he might actually have a point.

“Don’t wanna get my sheets all dirty,” he mumbled.

“Why don’t you clean yourself, then?”

“Too sleepy.” 

“You—” Dib didn’t say anything as Zim approached him, muttering. He vaguely heard Zim digging around under his bed before feeling a big down comforter get tossed haphazardly over his back.

“Hmph. Thanks,” drawled Dib. “Goodnight.”

“Yes. Goodnight,” said Zim.

Dib let his eyes close, relieved to drift off to sleep. He was out in a few moments, finally resting and unaware of the irken that stood for hours in his doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching for the subtle rise and fall from beneath the blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr as andyyoureastarr.tumblr.com to keep y'all updated on when stuff will be out, but I'm still hoping to update once a week.


	5. Sirius Minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fools rush in where wise men never go. But wise men never fall in love, so how are they to know? When we met, I felt my life begin. So, open up your heart and let this fool rush in." - Elvis Presley 

**i.**

Dib stepped out of the shower, reveling, again, at how good it felt to finally be clean. He grabbed a towel from the hook on the bathroom door, rubbed it through his hair, and wrapped it around his waist. 

He’d woken up about an hour ago, but he’d stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the events of… yesterday, maybe? He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping, only that it had been long enough for creases to form along his face and arms from his pillowcase and blankets, and that his stubble was even worse than it had been when he fell asleep. Still, he put off showering for a while, because willing himself to get up meant breaking the quiet peace he felt in his head, in his heart, and in the entire ship. Yes, for the first time in weeks, it was all quiet aboard _The Mothman_ , and it had been since Dib fell asleep. No whistling, no ranting, and no singsong dodeedo-ing. And Dib was nervous and excited but especially nervous to go out into the cockpit and figure out why.

So, he’d stayed in bed, replaying the moments as best as he could remember: Zim carrying him through the woods, Zim’s antenna in his hair, Zim trying to protect him from Tak, Zim climbing into his arms and kissing him, Zim snuggled against his chest, Zim kissing him, again, softly and slowly. What was going to happen, now that Dib was awake? There was no adrenaline anymore, no danger of death by rock monster or infection. Did Zim still feel the same way when things were normal again? Not knowing frustrated Dib, and Zim could be so damn unpredictable that he truly didn’t know what would happen. Was this what having a crush felt like? Suddenly, Dib felt horrible for all the times he’d made fun of his classmates in Hi Skool. Zita had been right: liking someone was really stressful and definitely a good enough reason to skip class and smoke weed under the bleachers with your friends. 

But, Dib knew he had to get moving eventually. His skin felt like it was coated in a layer of grime, and he was parched and hungry and he needed to pee. He’d reluctantly hauled his sore body out of bed and ambled to the bathroom. He also noted with surprised appreciation that Zim had been in there while he was asleep and cleaned up all the blood and dirt from surgery. 

One shower later, he was now wiping the condensation off the mirror above the sink to get a good look at what he was working with. First things first: he would definitely have to shave. Even with his impaired vision, he could see the patchy, pathetic beard. He popped his glasses on and got to work. Without his electric razor, though, all he had were cheap disposables, so he nicked himself under his chin and by his ear. He stuck a couple of pieces of toilet paper to his face to stop the bleeding. 

With his glasses on and puberty beard off, Dib could properly see himself in the mirror. He sighed, dragging his eyes to the mess of hair on top of his head, including the cowlick that he was thinking might actually be sentient. Today, it stuck almost straight up into the air. Dib combed his fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lie a little flatter. When that didn’t work, he ducked down to the cabinet under the sink and grabbed a jar of hair gel that he’d only used twice before in his life (once at prom, once at his college graduation). He scooped out a bit with two fingers and tried again, pulling through his hair in an attempt to make it look somewhat presentable. He gave up after a few minutes and deemed it a lost cause. Now, at least, it was flipped behind him and looked halfway normal. 

Dib looked at his face. His eyebrows, thick and straight, could also use some attention. He licked his thumbs and swiped them along his brows, kind of like how he’d seen it done in the movies. That helped, a little. There wasn’t much to be done about his eyes: they were brown, unremarkable and uninteresting compared to all the aliens he’d met. A little on the big side and, maybe a little too close together? Dib sighed. His nose, straight with a little upward curve at the end, was pretty good. Zim hated it, though, because of how disgusting it was. Same with his ears, which were a little on the big side but somewhat hidden under his hair. Dib’s gaze fell to his mouth, and he attempted a confident smile. The braces he’d needed when he was thirteen had paid off — at least his teeth were straight and white. The smile, then, was pretty good. Could use a little more confidence, though. He leaned forward, examining his jawline. It also seemed… average. Zim’s jawline was so perfectly shaped, it looked like it had been carved. Dib’s was fine; it was there, but it wasn’t really doing much. He huffed in frustration. How was it that everyone thought his father was so handsome, yet Dib, his actual clone, wasn’t nearly as dazzling as everyone said he would be when he grew up? He wondered if it even mattered. It’s not like irkens had the same beauty standards as humans, anyway. What did Zim even think of him, then?

He let his eyes travel to his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He had always been pale, but after three years in space with no consistent sun exposure, he was downright pasty. It made the dark hair on his torso and arms looked even more prominent, which made him feel even more self-conscious about having all that hair to begin with. Not that he was, like, Bigfoot-comparable. But he had a hell of a lot more hair than most life forms out here, and, as Zim had pointed out, he was as prone to shedding as any other mammal. Maybe he should vacuum more. 

He should definitely work out more. He wasn’t fat, partly because he’d always had a fast metabolism and partly because he only ever ate highly nutritious granola bars and packages of microwavable rice and vegetables. It wouldn’t kill him to put on a couple more pounds, but he noticed with some satisfaction that sparring with Zim every now and then had paid off — even if it was subtle, there was a little more tone in his arms and abs. Right? Sure. He took his towel off and looked between his legs, wondering if Zim had anything remotely similar and blushing at how eager he was to find out. 

Before leaving the bathroom, he peeled the bloody toilet paper off his face and slapped on a little aftershave for good measure (maybe Zim would like the smell of witch hazel?) and tried, again, to master a cool and confident smile. He did a decent job, decided to table the issue for another time, then went the bedroom. 

The first thing he noticed when he got into the bedroom was how freaking cold it was. With the door closed, the bathroom had turned into a kind of sauna. Out here, though, with his bedroom door wide open (whoops — he slammed it shut), it was freezing. He would have to remind Zim to stop screwing with the thermostat. He slid into a pair of heavy grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a warm, purple cable-knit sweater that Gaz had gotten him for his birthday a few years ago. His wool socks were still missing, so he pulled on a pair of gym socks and then slippers, grabbed his dirty jeans, t-shirt, and boxers from off the floor, and marched out the door. 

He beelined it for the cockpit, opening the door with more force than needed and slamming himself in the face. 

“Ow!”

Zim’s head whipped around, his antennae shooting straight up. Dib, still rubbing the spot on his forehead where the door had hit him, dragged his feet as he walked down to the dashboard and plopped himself into the co-pilot’s seat. It was when he sat down that he realized he’d forgotten to put his dirty t-shirt, jeans, and underwear into the laundry, and he was currently holding them in his lap. Also, Zim was staring at him, and he should probably say something. 

“Um,” he said. “Hey.” 

Zim looked him over, his gaze landing on the clothes in his lap and sticking there.

“Hello,” he said. 

Dib looked down at his lap, too, before muttering something about doing the laundry and all but running out of the cockpit. 

After a quick pep talk in the storage closet, Dib reentered the cockpit, carefully, and sat himself back down in his seat. He looked at Zim, who was looking at him with his head cocked to the side.

“So,” said Dib, desperately trying to sound casual. “What’s up?” 

“Are you feeling okay?” asked Zim. “Maybe you should go lie down again.” 

“Nah, I’m good,” said Dib. 

“Okay, then,” said Zim, and everything was quiet for two full minutes. 

 

Zim broke the silence, whistling a low, militaristic tune that sounded suspiciously like Darth Vader’s music from _Star Wars._ Dib smiled a little at that, and when he caught Zim’s eye, he realized that the irken was smiling a little, too, and his whistling got louder. Dib turned back to look out the windshield, blushing and biting his lip. Eventually, Zim stopped and cleared his throat.

“Do you smell that?” He sniffed. “It smells like mud in here.”

“Nope,” snapped Dib, rubbing his hands on his cheeks, like that would help eliminate the scent. “Don’t smell anything. Must be you.”

Zim hummed, looking suspiciously at Dib’s face with his little nostrils flared. He sniffed again and turned back to the dashboard. 

“We will need to make a stop today,” he said. “After that, there will be nothing between us and our destination.” 

“How long until we get there?” asked Dib, who still had no idea where or what “there” was.

“About six weeks,” said Zim.

Dib considered this. Six more weeks, and they were “there.” And then what?

“Okay,” he said. “When are we stopping?” 

“We will be there in under an hour. I thought we could stay there for a while, since we won’t have anywhere else to stop for a while.”

“Okay,” said Dib. “Is there anything to do there?” 

“Hmm. Not really. There is a small city and a market where we can pick up supplies and walk around. Maybe we could have a meal.” 

“Okay,” said Dib, trying not to sound too excited that Zim had kind of just asked him out to dinner. Be cool, Dib. “Sounds good.” 

Zim looked at Dib out of the corner of his eye, a gesture that Dib caught and returned. They looked at each other like that for a while, then Zim turned back to look through the windshield. Dib, emboldened by the dinner invitation, got an idea.

“Maybe when we get back, we can watch a movie?” he asked, at the same time that Zim said, “Let’s watch a movie later.” 

“Oh, hah.”

“Heh? Oh, yes.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

They sat quietly for a few more moments, not looking at each other, until Dib, unable to help himself, started asking questions about the planet they were headed to. Zim, looking a little relieved, answered them all, and Dib was happy to have something to talk about for the next half hour as they approached Sirius Minor. 

 

**ii.**

Dib hadn’t remembered to chastise Zim about messing with the thermostat until they’d parked _The Mothman_ and opened up the windshield, at which point he was struck by a wave of heat. He’d run back into his bedroom for a pair of shorts and sneakers, leaving his sweater and sweatpants on the floor. When he hopped out of the cockpit and locked up his ship, he was about to start complaining until he noticed just how big Sirius Minor’s sun was.

It was weaker than Earth’s star, and it was orange in color instead of the yellow-white that Dib grew up with. He recognized it as a K-type star, so, technically, it was actually smaller than Earth’s sun. But, Sirius Minor was the closest planet to this particular star, and it was a huge, glowing tangerine in the sky that left Dib awestruck. He’d been on planets with multiple suns and planets with brighter or weaker suns, all of which never ceased to amaze him. He turned his face up to the star, closing his eyes like a dog on a bright summer day. A warm, humid breeze ruffled through his hair, and he sighed.

“Are you quite finished?” 

Dib jumped at the intrusion and opened his eyes to see Zim, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed and his little foot tapping on the asphalt.

“Hm. No,” said Dib, and he dramatically flung his arms out to take in even more sun, his eyes closing again. He gave a little purr, which had always annoyed Gaz to no end. After a few moments like that, he let his arms drop and opened his eyes. Like nothing had happened, he brushed past Zim, bumping his shoulder, walked out of the parking lot, and turned down the sidewalk. When he realized Zim wasn’t with him, he turned around, noticing that Zim was still standing in the middle of the parking lot, frozen, his foot still in the air, mid-tap.

“You coming?” asked Dib.

Zim sputtered something, then jogged to catch up with Dib, his face flushed. 

 

The little city they’d landed in was, apparently, Sirius Minor’s most famous. As they walked down the sidewalk toward the center of town, Zim explained that there were bigger cities around the planet, but this one had the best food and the nicest market. Tourists came from far and wide to enjoy the pleasures the city of Geruda had to offer, from fancy cocktails to upscale prostitutes, on a planet that stayed warm but pleasant all year long. Zim didn’t even have to tell Dib that Geruda was an oasis, a vacation town. It was obvious, just by seeing how slowly everyone walked, how much everyone clinked their glasses and laughed. From the looks of it, everyone in Geruda was on holiday. 

Except for Zim. He dragged Dib through crowds of people, refusing to stop to watch street performers or window shop. From the moment they’d gotten here, Zim’s stress level seemed to grow exponentially. Dib finally wrenched his wrist free and ducked into a little bar, shouting for Zim to follow. He plopped down at the bar next to Dib, crossing his arms and seething.

“Let’s get a drink,” said Dib. “I’ll buy.” 

As if there were any chance Zim would pay. Dib was pretty sure he had no money, given that he was exiled on Foodcourtia and probably not even given a paycheck. Dib, however, had a decent amount of money with him. When he’d brought his earth cash to the exchange station a few years ago, the employee had been so confused by it that they gave him a scandalous amount of irken monies in return. Since then, Dib had been frugal. He’d also managed to make some side cash selling his inventions, like miniature maps, here and there. Everyone loved his holograms, so he was never really low on funds. 

Zim glared at Dib, then at the bartender, who tossed them drink menus and hastened away. “Not thirsty.” 

“Oh, come on. You said we were going to hang out here for a while.” 

“I changed my mind.” 

“Why?” 

Zim looked away, antennae pinned against his head. Dib sighed, opened the drink menu, and paused. He noticed, for the first time, that the little cantina, which had been lively with conversation when he walked in, was dead quiet. Slowly, he let the drink menu fall to the counter. He looked around.

Everyone was staring at Zim. Really, he stuck out like a sore thumb. While everyone else was practically half naked in swimsuits and sun hats, or even shorts and t-shirts, like Dib, Zim was the only one in a full uniform. He was also the only irken Dib had seen since they’d arrived. Zim had told Dib on the ship that Sirius Minor hadn’t been conquered by Irk and likely wouldn’t be for a while. It wasn’t of much use to the Empire, being so small and so far away. Plus, irkens weren’t usually allowed to go on vacation, so, if it were conquered, the Tallests would also have to think of something else to do with it. As Zim had explained, it was all too much work for the Empire to even bother with Sirius Minor, at least, for now. 

“Hey,” said Dib. “We can go, if you want.” This place was paradise, but not with Zim feeling the way he was.

Zim looked around the bar, sniffed, and grabbed the drink menu. 

“You may buy Zim a drink,” he said, and that was that.

The bartender’s Irken needed work, so they spoke in Vortian. Zim kept quiet while Dib ordered their drinks, not totally sure what he was getting, but excited nonetheless. Dib made pleasant conversation with the bartender and the customers around him, telling them about where he was from and some of the planets he’d visited. 

By the time their drinks arrived, the other patrons had apparently decided Zim was not a threat, and they had returned to laughing and drinking. Their cocktails were tall, neon green and sugary sweet. Dib sipped his as he watched Zim toss his head back and take his like a shot, downing the whole thing in one big gulp and then primly wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. They sat in awkward silence while Dib drank as fast as he could without getting a brain freeze, before finally paying and heading for the door. Dib smiled when they got outside, enjoying the sun even more now that he was a little buzzed. He reached for Zim’s hand, and Zim jumped away like he’d been burned.

“Not here,” he said.

Dib shrugged, trying not to be offended, and they wandered down the street at a somewhat leisurely pace. They reached the market, big and bustling, and Zim loaded their cart up with drinks and snacks, while Dib reached for fruits and vegetables that had a decent shelf life. They bickered about what kind of bread to get for sandwiches and nearly had a screaming match over the sheer volume of soda Zim was trying to persuade Dib to buy. Eventually, he acquiesced, but only if Zim promised not to eat all the microwave popcorn. They carted their groceries back to the ship, and Dib put everything away while Zim watched and drank a juice box. Dib finished up, then turned back to Zim.

“I just need to refill the water tanks,” he said.

Zim nodded. “There is a station just outside of town. We can go there.” 

Dib nodded, too, and they watched each other for a second, before Dib spoke up.

“We can just do that and leave, if you want,” he said. “We don’t have to get dinner.” 

Zim squinted, confused and, as always, irritated. 

“Why not?”

Dib sighed. “Because, I don’t know. It was weird when we were getting drinks before, and I don’t want to force you to go back into town if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t worry about that, earth boy,” said Zim. “Zim has already made dinner plans that are far superior to this town’s pathetic restaurant scene.”

“Okay, then… space boy,” said Dib, a little surprised and unable to stop the smile growing on his face. 

Dib followed Zim out of _The Mothman_ and through the parking lot, down the sidewalk in the opposite direction they’d gone before and toward the beach.

 

The sand on Sirius Minor was snow white, and its waves were so foamy, they looked like clouds. The water itself was a minty green color, light and clear enough that Dib could see the ocean floor for miles around him. The beach was narrow, but the tide was low enough that Dib could see sand and shells that had washed up earlier that day. The setting sun took up almost the entire horizon, painting the sky different shades of orange and pink. Around the beach were a few different kinds of trees. Most of them were tall, with thick trunks, high branches, and giant leaves. Others were shorter and covered in vines with huge yellow flowers that had big, floppy petals. 

Zim led them to a food truck parked on a grassy hill overlooking the beach and ordered them two of something that looked kind of like an earth burrito. Dib took his with some trepidation, but, at this point, he trusted Zim not to poison him. He also liked the way that Zim looked in this light: the setting sun made his skin look so warm it was almost gold. Maybe it was a trick of the light or just Dib imagining things, but Zim also looked calmer, more content than Dib had ever seen him. It probably helped that this part of the beach was pretty much deserted, minus the lady selling the burritos. As they walked down to the beach, Dib paused to take off his shoes and socks. Zim eyed him, obviously curious.

“What are you doing, Dib-worm?” he asked.

Dib, a little annoyed by the nickname that he had never actually agreed to, balled up his socks and stuck them in his left shoe. He picked up his sneakers in one hand, his uneaten burrito still in its foil in the other.

“Where I come from,” he said, “it’s really uncool to wear your shoes on the beach.”

Zim huffed, then, to Dib’s surprise, sat down in the sand and yanked off his boots. 

They walked along the beach until they found a cluster of rocks. Together, they sat down on the flattest one, and Dib sunk his feet in the water, burying his toes into the sand. He looked over at Zim’s feet, just next to his: only three toes on either foot, interesting, and they were long and slender and, Dib thought, nice-looking. Zim was unwrapping his own food, munching on it as he stared out at the water. 

They chatted amicably for a few minutes, talking about Sirius Minor and types of stars, pausing only to take bites of their dinner, which, actually, was pretty good. Sure, it wasn’t what Dib had been expecting, but… this was kind of better. Here was the most beautiful beach he’d ever been on, and the light of the setting sun made Zim look kind of like an angel, as cheesy as it was to say. Who needs candle lit dinners and fancy entrees? The water swishing around their feet was warm and frothy, and the sand was rough against Dib’s toes. He made eye contact with Zim and offered his most confident smile, trying to gauge how he might be feeling. Zim just looked at him, fixing him with a hard stare before balling up his burrito foil and tossing it directly at Dib’s nose.

“Ah — what was that for?”

“Your face was being all funny,” Zim said.

“ _Your_ face is… it’s stupid,” said Dib. “So…”

Zim just looked at him again, one eye squinting and the other wide with confused irritation. Without a word, he rolled his leggings up to his knees and started wading out into the water. Dib watched him go, torn on whether or not he should follow. He watched Zim wade until the water was mid-calf, the light of the sun making only his silhouette visible. He bent over, reaching for something in the water, then turned toward Dib and held it up in the air.

“Hey!” he beckoned. “Come look what I found.”

Hastily, Dib hustled over to where Zim was standing, almost losing his balance in the soft sand. When he reached Zim, he saw what he was holding: a shell, blue as Earth’s sky and the size of Zim’s fist. 

“Wow,” said Dib. “Cool.”

“Here,” said Zim, shoving the shell into Dib’s chest. “Have it.” 

“That’s okay,” said Dib, wondering just how special this shell was. “You can have it, if you want.”

“What I _want_ is for you to have it,” huffed Zim, still pressing the shell into Dib’s shirt and getting it dirty with wet sand. 

“Okay,” said Dib. “Thanks.”

He bent down to clean the sand off of it a little, pleased by the gift. As he splashed it around in the water, freeing it of all the grime, Zim reached down and snatched the shell from Dib’s hand. Before Dib could protest, he scooped it through the water, filling it, and tilted it toward his mouth. With a loud and satisfied gulp, he swallowed the seawater and handed the shell back to Dib. 

“Now you,” he said. 

“No way,” said Dib. “I’m not drinking from an ocean that’s full of fish crap.”

“Did you not drink feces regularly, though?” asked Zim. “On Earth?”

“Jeez, Zim,” said Dib. “That’s the brand name. It’s not actually made out of... poop. At least, I'm pretty sure it isn't.” 

“Oh,” said Zim, thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize.”

“You actually thought I drank that?” asked Dib, a little offended.

“You inferior Earth beasts do plenty of disgusting things. I really wouldn’t put anything past you.”

Dib rolled his eyes at that, then, for good measure, slapped his hand against the water and splashed Zim on his legs. Zim shrieked in outrage, then kicked back at Dib, sending a spray of water right at his face. 

“Ah — okay, okay, truce!” barked Dib, covering his watch with his hand. “Stop splashing me.” 

“Victory for Zim!”

“Yeah, whatever,” grumbled Dib.

His curiosity was piqued, though, so he scooped some water into the shell, then tilted it into his mouth. It was… delicious. Sweet and fruity and it went down smoother than anything else he’d ever had. He took a second gulp, then a third, marveling. He looked up at Zim.

“Do I even want to know what makes this taste so good?”

“Eh,” said Zim. “Probably not. You won’t get sick from it, though.”

Satisfied, Dib yanked off his glasses and held them and the shell up to Zim.

“Hold these for me?” he asked, and Zim wordlessly obliged. 

He hadn’t realized how hot he’d gotten until Zim had splashed him, and now he felt sticky from sweat. He cupped some water in his hands and splashed it over his face, running damp fingers through his hair. He did this a few times. When he straightened up, Zim took one look at his head and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” 

Zim just pointed at his hair and Dib, remembering the gel, cursed. He ran his fingers through his cowlick again, desperately hoping it didn’t look totally stupid. 

“Does it look okay now?” he asked.

Zim cleared his throat, then stepped forward until they were almost touching. He offered the shell and glasses back to Dib, who took them, then dug his own fingers through Dib’s hair in a not-so-gentle attempt the reshape it. When he finally pulled his hands back, Dib let out a breath. 

“Hm,” said Zim. “Marginally better. But, it still looks way better than it did before. Less… crunchy.”

“Oh,” said Dib, embarrassed. Maybe the hair gel wasn’t such a good idea. 

Zim hummed thoughtfully, his eyes trailing down from Dib’s hair to his face, then to his wet, dirty t-shirt. Dib shifted under Zim’s gaze.

“So,” he said. “You’ve been here before, I’m guessing?”

“I have,” said Zim, looking away. “Once, after graduation. Everyone from the academy came here while we waited for our assignments.”

“Huh,” said Dib. It was hard to picture Zim here, with all of his academy buddies, like they were on spring break or something. “Did you have fun?”

“Eh, not really,” said Zim. “It was pretty boring. And dumb. I probably only stayed for an hour before going back to Irk.” 

“Wow,” said Dib. “And we’ve been here all day.”

Zim shrugged. “It was more fun this time.” 

Zim must have realized what he was saying, because he half-heartedly tried to backtrack out of the unintentional compliment, but he was silenced by Dib’s hands on his waist. Dib took a step forward, and their bodies were pressed together. He could smell the sweet water flowing around them, and he could hear the distant sounds of the city behind him. Zim looked up at him, his skin no longer that golden color from before, now that the sun had almost totally set. Soon, it would be nighttime, and the stars would appear, and they would get back into _The Mothman_ and fly away. Not yet, though. 

Dib took leaned forward and planted a light kiss on Zim’s mouth. Zim pressed back, wrapping a small hand around the back of Dib’s neck. He held Dib by the shoulder with his other hand, leaning onto Dib as he rose onto his toes. Dib squeezed him tighter, enjoying the feeling of Zim in his arms. Feeling bold, he tilted his head to catch Zim’s bottom lip between his teeth then swipe his tongue along it. Zim gave an “mmph” of surprise, then leaned even more heavily onto Dib's body. Dib hummed back, then, slowly, teased his tongue along Zim’s lip again. Zim whimpered. He dug his nails into Dib’s shoulder and let Dib slip into his mouth, exploring along sharp teeth and around a narrow, ridged tongue. 

They made out, slowly diving into each other’s teeth, lips, and tongues. Dib tried not to seem too eager, not to put too much onto Zim at one time, but it was difficult, with the little invader all but shoving his tongue down Dib’s throat. He held Zim tightly around the waist as the sun dipped below the horizon, and, all at once, the air around them went frigid. Dib pulled back, gasping a little as his whole body went cold. He grabbed Zim by the hand and dragged him to shore, suddenly eager to get back to _The Mothman._

 

**iii.**

Dib, back in his sweats and sporting a different t-shirt, shifted a little when Zim scooted over to him on the bed, mirroring his position by leaning back against the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him. Dib was hyper-aware of Zim’s arm brushing against his as the irken opened up his laptop and inserted a plookesian movie, babbling about the superior quality of the film the entire time.

They’d picked it up while they were filling up Dib’s water tanks and charging the ship’s power core at the station outside of Geruda. Zim had found it in a big bin full of old movies near the snack aisle and insisted Dib buy it, because, apparently, it was phenomenal. Dib had obliged, happy to have something new to watch other than all of his old stuff and, here they were, settling into Dib’s bed for the night while _The Mothman_ auto-piloted itself farther out into space.

“Plookesians really are decent filmmakers. Did you know that, Dib?” asked Zim, still buzzing about the movie, apparently.

“No,” admitted Dib. “I didn’t see any movies while I was on Plookesia.”

“You really should, Dib,” said Zim. “One day, you should go see one.” 

“Okay,” said Dib. “I’ll put it on my to-do list.” 

“Good,” said Zim, and he hit play and shuffled down, leaning a little against Dib’s arm. Dib drew in a shaky breath, somehow caught between euphoria and panic. 

The movie was lengthy, made even longer because Dib had to keep pausing it to ask what someone had said. He had his translator in his ear, but this movie was old, and certain colloquialisms were difficult to understand. Zim had agreed to put on the subtitles, but they only came in Plookesian, so they weren’t really that much of a help. Still, he could somewhat understand what the movie was about — some war between Irk and Plookesia, one that had apparently happened millennia ago. Zim loved the movie because it had a “happy ending,” one in which Irk won and the valiant plookesian general died in a horribly graphic fire that also burned down an orphanage. Zim delighted in the film, talking at great length about the horrible special effects and terribly-disguised plookesian actors that were portraying irkens. Another reason why Dib had to keep hitting pause.

The movie had a lot of explosions, which Dib liked, and lots of action. The special effects were actually pretty amazing by Dib’s standards, but Zim was adamant about how much better irken effects were. Either way, the movie was dramatic and gritty and fun, with lots of spaceship battles and cool-guy one liners. It was exactly the movie Dib would have loved as a kid, and he felt a little nostalgic watching it. Especially with Zim, who had apparently seen this film thousands of times. Watching Zim watch it, mouthing the lines along with the actors and perking his antennae in excitement right before a big explosion, was just as entertaining as watching the film itself. Dib found himself going back and forth, turning back to the film only when Zim insisted he pay close attention. 

 

It was when the movie ended that Dib felt a sudden rush of nerves. The credits rolled a solid three and a half hours after Zim had pressed play, mostly due to the frequent pausing but also because it really was a long movie. By the end of it, Zim and Dib were slouched against each other, their heads and arms pressed together and their bodies halfway sitting, halfway lying against the wall behind Dib’s bed. The screen went black for a moment before the names started rolling, and Dib could briefly see their reflections in the laptop. It made him nervous, and suddenly, he was thinking back to when they were on Sirius Minor, which made him more nervous. He made eye contact with Zim through their mirrored images, then looked down at where the backs of their hands were pressed together. His eyes traveled up, to their forearms, then landed on the inside of Zim’s elbow and stuck there. He gulped, trying to straighten out his thoughts and not act like a complete moron. He peeked over his glasses to where Zim was staring at him. Their eyes met, and all of a sudden they were kissing again. 

This time, there was no slow start. Zim took Dib’s face in one hand, digging his nails into Dib’s cheek, and stuck his tongue in Dib’s mouth. Dib swallowed a laugh, trying not to ruin the moment. He let Zim explore, running his alien tongue over Dib’s teeth, along the room of his mouth, coiling around Dib’s own tongue. Dib considered the slimy, thick texture of Zim’s saliva while massaging the muscles of his upper arm. Zim moaned softly into his mouth, not breaking the kiss as he climbed halfway into Dib’s lap, his knee between Dib’s thighs. Dib moved his hands to Zim’s waist, letting Zim lead the kiss with clumsy enthusiasm, his hands gripping the sides of Dib’s face. They kissed like that for a while, further exploring each other’s mouths while their hands roamed along each other’s backs, chests, and arms. Dib shivered against Zim’s nails raking down his chest, then pulled away slightly. He opened his eyes and smiled at Zim’s expression: flushed more than Dib had ever seen it, his mouth hanging open as he panted slightly, his eyes hungry for more. Dib leaned in for one quick peck, which turned into even more making out. Finally, he pulled back again, this time more intent on achieving his goal. 

“Here…” he murmured, shakily sliding them both onto his bed so they were horizontal, Zim flopped halfway on top of him. Zim hummed in approval, then went back to attacking Dib’s mouth. Distantly, he remembered to shove his laptop to the side so it wouldn’t fall onto the floor.

With Zim lying on top of him, Dib let his hands wander from his waist downward, kneading Zim’s hips and curling his fingers around taut irken thighs. Zim moaned at the touches, pulling back to exhale hard against Dib’s ear. Dib shivered, again, catching the needy look in Zim’s eyes before letting his own slide shut again. He hummed when Zim reconnected them, dragging his hands back up Zim’s body and resting them on his hips.

Unable to help himself, Dib gripped Zim harder and bucked his own hips up, gasping at the friction. He felt Zim pause above him, then return to his assault on Dib’s mouth. Dib chastised himself, deciding not to do it again in case it was too weird, too lewd. A few minutes later, though, he couldn’t help himself, and he did it again, thrusting his hips upward and rubbing his growing erection against the front of Zim’s thigh. He groaned loudly and did it again, digging his nails into Zim’s hips and rocking upward. Zim paused, again, and rolled off Dib so that he was lying on his side next to the human. He rested his head in his hand and peered at Dib, still looking pretty wrecked, but clearly confused. 

“Sorry,” said Dib. “Sorry, I won’t… I won’t do that again.” 

Zim said nothing, his silence an oddity in itself. 

“Zim?”

Dib stayed on his back, unsure of what to do. He looked at Zim’s face, his wide, glowing eyes and his slightly sweaty forehead. He followed Zim’s gaze down to where his t-shirt had ridden up, so a slice of skin was bared between his shirt and sweatpants, which were tight against a recently-developed stiffness. Dib huffed, embarrassed and annoyed that he’d chosen to wear sweatpants — the least inconspicuous pants to get a boner in. 

Zim still said nothing as he let his free hand trace along the exposed skin of Dib’s belly. He caught Dib’s t-shirt, guiding it a little farther up to reveal more. Dib watched, nearly shaking with anticipation. Zim continued touching Dib’s stomach, tracing around his belly button and petting down the stripe of hair that started at his chest and disappeared into his pants. He did this for about a minute before letting his hand trail downward. Tentatively, he ghosted against Dib’s sweatpants, right where the bulge was. Dib gasped a little, surprised. He looked up, catching Zim’s eye.

“You… like this?” asked Zim, a little too loudly.

“Yeah,” breathed Dib.

Zim rubbed against him again, this time with more intention, and Dib moaned. 

“Like this?”

“Y-yeah. That’s nice.” Zim continued, brushing his hand against Dib’s dick, not fully grasping it. Dib breathed shakily against Zim’s movements, stiff and ready. He let Zim touch him, wondering if he didn’t realize that he was teasing. Zim continued stroking him, watching for his reactions with perked antennae. 

Dib felt the heat of arousal in his entire body. He hadn’t been touched like this in a while, sure, but even so. It felt more intimate, more sensational doing it with Zim than with anyone else. He watched Zim’s eyes, feeling a swell of something else in his chest. Love? Maybe. Certainly affection, appreciation. Whatever it was, it was deep and heavy and Dib wanted more of it. A desire built in him, innate and automatic, to reciprocate. Without thinking, he propped himself up on one elbow, wrapping a hand around Zim’s neck and placing a sloppy kiss there, sucking and biting hard, moaning against the sensitive skin under Zim’s jaw. Zim froze.

In a second, it was over. Zim was on his feet, rushing out of Dib’s room and muttering something about checking the power core. Dib barely registered what was happening until Zim was gone, and he was alone, too confused and embarrassed to go out into the cockpit. A knot of guilt was forming in his stomach, a reminder that he'd been trying to take things slow. He looked down at the wet spot on his sweatpants where precum had leaked through and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He waited for a while, hopeful that Zim might come back, even though he knew he wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!


	6. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can resist anything except temptation." - Oscar Wilde

**i.**

Dib didn’t say anything about what happened that night. He considered bringing it up, bumbling through an apology and making Zim angrier. At least his conscience would be clear, but, would that make things better, overall? Dib thought not. He wasn’t afraid to talk to Zim about it, he was just… scrupulous. Yeah. He was a scientist, after all. He thought these things through. At least, starting now he would.

He’d known whatever was going on between them was new and fragile, and he was angry with himself for losing control. That was unfamiliar to him, a Dib he didn’t recognize or like. He would have to learn to smother this new impulsiveness, for the sake of Zim, their deal, and, honestly, himself. Dib did research, he conducted experiments, and he didn’t do anything without indisputable evidence. He was cautious and careful and smart. Now, he just had to start acting like it. 

Zim didn’t bring it up, either, though, so Dib decided to just try to move on. For a while, it seemed like things would never go back to normal. Zim was horribly quiet, responding to Dib with one-word answers or not at all. 

It took a couple of days, but eventually Zim became more talkative, and Dib was doing an okay job of putting the whole thing behind him. They went back to chatting casually in the cockpit, pestering each other with questions about Earth and Irk and their own respective histories. Zim still joined Dib in his room when he had nightmares, although those came much less frequently now. They sat on his bed together, inches apart but not touching, and watched old cartoons or scary movies. They fell uneasily back into their old routine, and Dib promised himself he wouldn’t push the matter any further. If Zim wanted him, he knew where to look. 

Zim had been right about there not being anything between Sirius Minor and their destination: the space they were in was empty as could be, with hardly a star system or asteroid in sight. So, they occupied each other. They worked together on Dib’s map, updating it with all the new places they had gone. They could spend entire days on it, perfecting it, adding details and doing calculations until their brains went numb. If they needed a break, they would tinker around with something else or play some silly road trip game. Deep space wasn’t a great place for “I Spy,” but Zim was really good at coming up with gruesome and terrifying scenarios for “Would You Rather.” Dib had no idea what a Slor Beast was, but he definitely knew he would rather fight off an alpha male than suckle from a nursing female’s teat. Zim agreed. 

When they weren’t breaking Dib’s electronics or telling two truths and one lie, they chatted about movies and their favorite colors and what kind of melee weapon would be most suitable for fighting an alpha male Slor Beast, if one actually had to. Zim tutored Dib in reading Irken, and Dib taught Zim the names of all the bones in the human body. Oddly enough, they never really ran out of stuff to talk about. Though, no one had ever really wanted to talk to Dib that much, so he kind of did have a lot to say. Zim did, too, and most of what he wanted to talk about was actually pretty interesting. They extrapolated and theorized and guessed about phenomena that even the top irken scientists hadn’t been able to explain: What is the ultimate fate of the universe? Can a robot truly develop sentience? Sapience? What’s in Vort Dogs that makes them so damn tasty? 

When they got tired of talk, they sparred. Dib wouldn’t have offered, but Zim did, and Dib didn’t see the point in saying no. So, once or twice a day, they would set _The Mothman_ to autopilot and roll around on the ground for a while. 

In the past couple of months, Dib had actually gotten better at wrestling with Zim. He learned how to use his height to his advantage, a discovery that Zim found offensive and outragous. Still, Zim was stronger and had quicker reflexes, and he could usually still pin Dib without having to use his PAK legs. Dib still fought back with all he had, resolving to have the upper hand at least once.

  

It was about a week after they left Sirius Minor that Zim kicked Dib so hard in the gut that he went toppling backwards. He sat up, a little dazed, and called for a time out.

“Your stance was all off. You should have kept your feet farther apart,” said Zim, his hands on his hips. 

“Thanks,” grunted Dib, rubbing at his neck. 

Zim walked over to him and leaned down, hands still on his hips.

“What’s the matter? Can’t take a hit?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Did you land on the back of your gargantuan head?”

Dib looked up, annoyed.

“Oh, so now it’s _gargantuan_?” he snapped. He didn’t have anything else to add because, actually, he’d landed on his neck and it hadn’t felt great.

“It’s always been gargantuan,” said Zim, looking smug. His expression softened a little when Dib didn’t respond, just looked at him, still rubbing the spot where he’d landed. He straightened, then walked around until he was behind Dib and sat down on his knees.

“Let me see.”

Dib looked back in surprise, ready to comment until Zim took him gently by the chin and shoulder and pushed him until he was facing forward again. Dib said nothing, nervous but intrigued. 

Zim’s fingers grazed down the back of his neck, and Dib couldn’t help the goosebumps that erupted across his skin. He felt a twist at his collar and a gloved nail against a vertebra — probably tucking the tag of his t-shit back in. That always annoyed Zim, for some reason. He traced a finger back up Dib’s neck. He pressed hard, right at the base of the skull.

“Ow! Be gentle!”

A questioning hum from Zim, but nothing else. Dib felt two fingers land at his hairline behind his ears and then trail down his neck, this time with less pressure. He leaned into it.

Zim continued with the massage, easing his fingers up and down Dib’s neck until Dib was practically melted butter under his touch. He cocked his head to the right, still turned away from Zim, so that the side of his neck was exposed and unprotected. It was a long shot, but, maybe, if Zim saw him open and vulnerable, he would follow suit. Maybe if Zim finally realized that Dib was willing to yield, he would find the courage to stop pulling away and take what was offered. A hand wrapped around Dib’s neck.

“I could kill you,” said Zim. “I could kill you in a second.”

Dib didn’t move. “I trust that you won’t.” 

Silence. Dib shifted around so that he was facing Zim, and they stared at each other. Zim’s hand dropped to the floor. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”  


“Why do you… do that?”

Dib considered this. Why did he let himself be exposed to Zim? Vulnerable but ready, ripe for the taking? Why did he want to give his entire body to Zim? Why did he think that Zim, an irken, would treat him with care, with gentleness?

“You know why,” said Dib.

Zim balked, uncertain. 

“I… How should I know?” asked Zim.

Ignoring the promise he’d made to himself about not instigating anything, Dib reached between them and took Zim’s hand. From outside the glove, he ran a finger up Zim’s palm, along a digit, over a nail. He held Zim’s hand in his, liking the way they fit together. 

“I trust you,” said Dib, “because you’ve had my back before. Because we work well together. Because I like you, and I want to, so, I do. I trust you not to kill me when I have my back turned.”

“What about when you’re facing me?” asked Zim, looking genuinely curious.

“Then I’ll see it coming,” said Dib. “And I’ll kick your ass.” 

“Pfft. As if,” said Zim, but he wasn’t really laughing. He was still looking at Dib with big berry eyes. He had never seen an expression like that on Zim’s face. He looked curious, a little confused. Almost… innocent. Dib stared back for a while.

“Do you trust _me_?” Dib asked, and he felt Zim tighten his grip on his hand. Zim didn’t say anything for a while. The air around them felt electric. Dib bit his lip. Finally, Zim scooted closer, still on his knees. He hooked a finger into the high collar of his uniform and pulled it down a little, so Dib could just make out where neck met collarbone. Zim mimicked Dib, tilting his head away so that he was unprotected. They stared at each other. The hold on Dib’s hand was stiff and shaky. 

Dib leaned forward, bypassing Zim’s exposed neck and kissing him lightly on the mouth. They looked at each other through half-closed eyes as Dib slowly retreated, then leaned back in to kiss Zim on the forehead, the cheeks, that tiny nose. Zim’s eyes slid shut, so Dib kissed him on the eyelids, the top of his head, rising onto his knees so he could press his lips against the base of an antenna. He kissed the same spots over and over again, slowly and without much force. He planted one on Zim’s chin, more along his jaw, until he was at that previously hidden spot, that oasis, where Zim was still tugging his collar down. Dib had never seen that part of Zim before. Suddenly, he wanted it more than anything. He was obsessed with it.

He put his mouth on Zim’s neck and held it there, not really kissing but waiting to see if there would be a reaction. Zim didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, so Dib kept going, planting kisses up and down Zim’s neck. He rested his free hand on Zim’s knee as he doubled down, lighting sucking and licking skin that was smooth and dry and sweet-tasting. Zim moaned softly, and Dib moaned back. 

Dib knew he should probably end it there, stop before Zim took off on him again, but he couldn’t help himself. Zim let go of his hand and moved to wrap his arm around Dib’s shoulders, holding him in place as he bit lightly into soft green skin. Dib ran both hands from Zim’s knees to the tops of his thighs. Zim mumbled something that he didn’t catch, so he ignored it, continuing his gentle attack on Zim’s neck. He squeezed Zim’s thighs and Zim spread them a bit in what seemed like an automatic reaction. Dib glanced down briefly before biting lightly near the nape of Zim’s neck. He reached around with one hand to hold the small of Zim’s back and palmed at whatever was between his legs with the other. 

Just like last time, Zim was up and gone in an instant, this time off to shut himself in the bathroom. Dib followed, apologizing profusely and trying to catch Zim before he slammed and locked the door. He was too late though, and the irken hid in there for twenty minutes before popping out, the flush gone from his face. He assured Dib that there was nothing to worry about. Dib resisted the urge to throw himself out the airlock. 

Unlike last time, though, Dib woke up later that night to a little irken straddling his hips and kissing his neck. 

 

**ii.**

They fought. Dib wasn’t sure how or why it happened, but, suddenly, he had to walk on eggshells just to get through a regular conversation with Zim. What was even more confusing was that Zim couldn’t so much as cough without infuriating Dib, too. 

They argued about everything: what games to play, what movies to watch, whether or not Dib was chewing too loudly or if Zim’s humming was actually the most obnoxious sound in the entire world. Anything one did could set the other off, and any casual conversations about science, their biggest shared passion, devolved into petty squabbles about inconsequential things. Really, any kind of talk was unbearable, with one constantly one-upping the other or being needlessly pedantic. Even their favorite road trip games were a minefield, where one misstep, one poorly-timed joke, led to hours of shouting. 

The debate about the thermostat had turned into an all-out war. Zim would turn the temperature down to near-freezing, insisting that it wasn’t that cold and that they needed to preserve energy. Dib, wearing a ski jacket and two layers of socks, would turn it up when he thought Zim might not be paying attention. Zim, in a fit of spite, would then blast the heat until it was so sticky and hot aboard _The Mothman_ that Dib’s glasses fogged up and he felt like he was being suffocated while Zim sat next to him, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth and his whole face shiny with sweat. Dib would turn it down, Zim would snap about Dib not knowing whether he wanted it warm or cold, and they would argue, throwing overused insults and screaming until their voices were hoarse. It was awful, and Dib hated every second of it. He also hated that he anticipated it, wanted it, because he knew that the bigger their fights during the day were, the more intense things would be at night.

It had become a routine — a hateful, passionate, and probably unhealthy routine, but a routine nonetheless. Dib would jump out of bed in the morning, splash some water on his face and then head for the cockpit. Sometimes, they would start arguing right away. Sometimes, it wouldn’t start until they were watching a movie in the evening. Every time, one would snap at the other, they would fight for any time between a few minutes to a few hours, and then they would stormily part ways. Dib would retreat to a scalding hot shower and brush his teeth while Zim fumed in the cockpit. Then, Dib would hide in his room, watching a movie or playing Zim’s least favorite music at a deafening volume. Eventually, he would shut his laptop down and turn off the lights — a signal. He would get into bed under the guise of going to sleep and Zim would ignore him for as long as he felt like it and then stomp into his room, yank off his boots and gloves, and jump Dib’s bones.

They never did anything they hadn’t already done. Zim wouldn’t even get under the covers, he just climbed over to where Dib was and flopped down on top of him. They kept their clothes on and their mouths never went past the shoulders. Any kind of groping was on the table, though, and Dib tried desperately to feel something from Zim, some proof of arousal through his thick leggings, but to no avail. Dib was free to rock his hips against Zim’s and, shortly after this whole thing began, he started feeling Zim grinding back on him. Zim held him down, as if he had any intention of going anywhere, and Dib held back, clinging onto Zim like he was the sole source of pleasure Dib had ever known. Sometimes, it felt like he was. 

The first time, after the day they’d sparred and Zim had pulled down his collar to let Dib have the smallest taste of his skin, it only lasted a few minutes before Zim got up and walked out. As time went on, the fights got longer and more intense, and so did their nightly romps. But, every time, Zim would get up and leave abruptly, with hardly a word tossed back at Dib, and Dib would lie there, wondering how he’d let things get like this and why he wasn’t putting a stop to it. Eventually, it seemed like they could only do one of two things together, and Dib was exhausted and wired and he was sure Zim was, too. They couldn’t just keep spinning their wheels forever. He didn’t know how or when, but something had to give before they both exploded from all this pent-up energy, all this tension. He just had no idea how to get them off this rollercoaster, and he was terrified and electrified thinking of what might come next.

 

It was meant to be an innocent question. At least, it was meant to look like one. But Dib wasn’t great at being subtle, and, even though he knew he’d be hitting a nerve (one that he’d hit at least five times before), he asked anyway. Zim jumped down his throat for it, Dib snapped back, and they’d fought for the entire day about it until Dib snarled that he was going to bed and stomped into his room, slamming and, for the first time, locking the door shut behind him. 

He waited, knowing it wouldn’t be long. 

The doorknob rattled, and there was a pause. It rattled again, more insistently, but Dib lay on his side with his back to it, determined not to move. A bang, and the door was knocked off its hinges and lying flat on the floor. Dib sat up at the intrusion, already red with rage.

“You — you _asshole_ ,” hissed Dib. 

Zim was already walking into the bedroom, kicking off his boots and ripping off his gloves. He crawled into bed, into Dib’s waiting arms, and Dib let himself be laid down. They kissed just like they always did after fighting like this: biting on each other’s mouths, breathing each other in, hard and fast and blurry. Dib groaned into Zim’s mouth as Zim thrust roughly against him.

He knew this would happen. It was why he was wearing a t-shirt that was a few inches too short on him and his thinnest pair of cotton pajama pants. 

Zim growled something in irken that Dib didn’t understand and got up. He flung the sheets off the bed, exposing Dib, a stripe of his bare belly, his shaking hands, the tent that had formed in the front of his pants. Zim launched himself at Dib again, grabbing Dib by the upper arms and sinking his teeth into the nape of his neck. Dib let his head fall back onto the pillow and dug his fingernails into the seam where Zim’s skin met his PAK. He wondered if Zim was giving him another hickey, and then a hard suck just below his ear all but confirmed it. He didn’t care though. He was so wrecked, so tightly coiled, Zim could slit his throat and Dib would probably thank him for it. 

With the blankets gone, there were only a few thin layers of clothing between them, but Dib wanted more. He slid his hands under Zim’s tunic and pulled at it, trying to force it up, until Zim sat upright and tore it off. Another layer gone, and all that was lefton top was Dib’s blue t-shirt and the lighter pink, long sleeved undershirt that Zim was still wearing. Zim nipped at Dib’s earlobe. Dib slipped his fingers under Zim’s shirt.

“Stop it,” growled Zim, his mouth still right next to Dib’s ear.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

Dib huffed. He hated this — hated the power that Zim had over him. He hated to think that Zim was just going to walk out of here, any minute now, and leave Dib alone, again. He hated that he couldn’t control himself enough to stop this, to make Zim either talk to him or just leave him alone. He hated that he was finally on the cusp of having Zim the way he had literally dreamed of, but it still felt like he was losing. He removed his hands from under Zim’s shirt and, in a burst of immaturity, stuck them down the back of Zim’s pants and squeezed. 

In a flash, Zim had his wrists pinned to either side of his head. He glared at Dib, his teeth gritted and his eyes flashing. Dib glared back.

“What exactly do you want from me?” he barked. “Why can’t you just tell me so I can stop guessing?”  


Zim’s expression faltered for a second, and Dib got a glimpse of something else hidden below all that rage. His heart skipped a beat and all of his own anger dissipated because, for a second, all he saw on Zim’s face was fear. 

Zim must have seen Dib’s own face soften, because he growled and pushed Dib’s wrists deeper into the pillow. But Dib had seen. He saw it now, too. He saw it in how Zim’s eyes were wide and his antennae were twitching wildly, seeking the source of Zim’s fear, not knowing that it wasn’t tangible, wasn’t a predator waiting to strike. Dib sighed. He sat there, under Zim’s glare, for a few more moments. Then, slowly, he pressed his lips against Zim’s. He closed his eyes and waited. 

As expected, Zim was stiff as a board above him for a few more seconds before finally relaxing. He readjusted his hands from around Dib’s wrists to lace their fingers together. Dib felt himself loosen up, the tension suddenly gone from his whole body. Above him, Zim calmed, too, leaning into him instead of against him. He wiggled his hands free to wrap his arms around Zim’s waist, and he felt a flutter of relief as Zim buried his hands in Dib’s hair. Zim was heavy on top of him, laid out over his torso and between his legs. He felt his own breathing slow down along with Zim’s, their mouths still pressed together. Eventually, he pulled away. Zim opened his eyes, curious, and Dib felt himself hesitating to ask something that had been on his mind for far too long. Zim leaned down to kiss him again, and, just as their lips were connecting, Dib blurted it out:

“Do you even like me?” 

Zim pulled away.

“What kind of a question is that?” he asked. Dib felt a swell of emotion, of dread.

“ _Do_ you?” All the relaxation in his body was gone as Zim stared down at him. He wrapped his legs more firmly around Zim’s hips, not wanting him to take off running again. Zim leaned into it, resting on his elbows on Dib’s pillow. 

“Of course I like you. Why are you asking me this?”

Dib shifted, feeling not at all relieved by Zim’s answer.

“Because… I don’t know. I just— I can’t do this anymore, Zim. The fighting and the yelling and then… y’know. This part. I’m no expert on this… _stuff_ , but… It’s not okay. I wish you would just talk to me about what you want. Or even, just talk to me at all. I wish things could just go back to how they were before.” He swallowed, knowing how pathetic this all must sound. He didn’t really care. 

“I guess I just miss you.”

Zim considered this, his eyes narrowing as he mulled over what Dib had said. Dib held his breath. Zim sighed.

“Okay,” he said. 

“Okay?”

“Cyberflox,” said Zim.

Dib blinked.

“What?”

“You were asking me earlier,” said Zim, and Dib realized that this was the answer, the resolution to what they’d been fighting about all day. A white flag if Dib had ever seen one. Zim continued, confirming Dib’s suspicions.

“The place we’re going to. To get the SF-Drive. It’s called Cyberflox.” 

“Oh, okay,” said Dib. “Cool.” 

Cyberflox. And then what?

 

**iii.**

Zim seemed to have taken Dib’s words from the previous night into consideration. The day after, the temperature in the cockpit was cold but reasonable, and the air seemed relieved of at least some of its tension. They made awkward conversation, still uneasy. They fixed Dib’s bedroom door. Dib knew there was so much Zim wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t know how much of it he actually wanted to hear, or how much Zim was willing to share. He wouldn’t push it — not yet. Dib also decided he wasn’t going to push the physical aspect of their… relationship? What even was this? He considered asking, but decided against it. Not now, when they were just trying to get things back on track. Anyway, he wasn’t going to be the one to push things any farther. Zim could do that from now on.

They spent the morning chatting about their cultures, with Dib carefully steering the conversation in a certain direction. If Zim caught on, he wasn’t saying anything about it. He let Dib tell him about Valentine’s Day, a gross holiday where people give each other meat to show their love, and he even asked a few questions about its history and significance. Once they’d exhausted that subject, Dib decided it was time to strike.

“Do irkens have anything like that?”

“Holidays?” asked Zim. “Eh. Not really. We don’t really get time off.”

“Oh. Not even ones for, uh, love and stuff?”

He held strong under Zim’s side-eye, feigning innocent curiosity.

“No,” said Zim. “Not even for love and stuff.”

Dib pursed his lips as a silence filled the cockpit. Might as well just go for it, then.

“Do you guys — irkens, I mean — even do the relationship thing? Like, do you get married and stuff? I know you don’t, ah, reproduce… naturally.”

Zim shook his head. 

“Not at all?”

Zim looked at Dib, face-on. 

“No,” he said. “It’s forbidden.” 

“What, having a relationship?”

“Dib-human,” said Zim, “irkens do not need icky love-pigs. We rely on ourselves.” 

“So, why make it illegal, then?” asked Dib. “If you don’t even need it?”

Zim huffed. “ _Because._ It’s an insult.”

“An insult? Who are you insulting?” 

“My Tallest,” said Zim with a shrug, as if it were obvious.

“How?” asked Dib. “You’re not, like, romantically interested in them, right?” 

Zim shook his head again.

“Of course not. That would be weird. They’re my Tallest.”  


“Yeah. Right,” said Dib, still confused. “So, what, you won’t love _anything_ because it would insult them?”

“Nonsense,” said Zim, and he seemed to have forgotten the awkward maneuvering Dib had done to start this conversation. He was probably just happy to talk about his Tallests.

“Irkens,” he explained, “love galactic conquest. And snacks. Oh, and hearing the screams of our enemies. That’s allowed.”

“But not other irkens?” asked Dib.

“I already told you,” said Zim, speaking slowly to emphasize his point, “I love my Tallest.”

“You love them?” 

“Yes,” said Zim. “Unconditionally. I would do anything for my Tallest. Forever.”

“Why?” asked Dib. “What about them makes you love them so much?”

Zim shrugged. “It’s just what my PAK tells me to do.” 

Dib paused for a second, thinking this over. It was weird — asking Zim about his Tallest, it was like some other part of his brain kicked in a took over. Zim’s explanation was… un-Zimlike. Robotic and without inflection, Zim spoke about his Tallest with such a monotone that Dib wondered if he really meant was he was saying. His PAK made him love his leaders? How messed up was that? 

“Why does your PAK tell you to love your Tallest?” asked Dib. He got the feeling he might be treading in dangerous waters here, but he didn’t care. So what if this was the first halfway normal conversation they’d had in two weeks? His curiosity was getting the best of him, and he wanted some answers.

“Because… they’re my Tallest,” said Zim.

“Right, but, you can’t just love them because they’re in charge,” said Dib, silently noting that they weren’t even elected… they were literally just tall. And, from what it sounded like, they were pretty selfish and careless. He was pretty sure they didn’t love any of their people. Least of all Zim, if he got banished for Foodcourtia to get abused for the rest of his life. 

Zim was quiet for a second, thinking this over. 

“Yes, I can. Because I do. I love them.” 

“What if you didn’t love them?” asked Dib. “What if you loved someone else instead? Someone who your PAK didn’t tell you to love, you just loved them… because you loved them?”

“If I loved someone besides my Tallest,” said Zim, he words slowing for emphasis once again, “that would make me a defective. Which I’m not.” 

“Oh,” said Dib, thinking back to what Gashloog had said on the day they met. Maybe Zim didn’t think he was a defective, but, apparently, everyone else did.

“What does that mean, ‘defective’?” asked Dib, realizing he’d never actually learned.

“It means you have a bad PAK,” said Zim. 

“How so?”

“Your PAK is corrupted. It’s full of bad data that makes you go all crazy.” 

Dib paused to think about that. How could any PAK be corrupted, or bad? Weren’t they all made in the same place, using the same materials and coding? Irkens had been developing PAK technology since before humans were walking upright… there was no way that PAK manufacturing was that error prone. They _had_ to have better quality assurance than that. He wondered if it was a design flaw, one that was only seen in specific cases. Maybe it wasn’t even about the PAK. Maybe it was the irken who was wearing it that caused the corruption. He looked at Zim. 

Zim certainly wasn’t like any other irken Dib had met. He didn’t fall in line the way he was supposed to, obviously, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been banished. And, besides, if Zim weren’t a defective, he wouldn’t have even left Foodcourtia to begin with. Right?

“So, your Tallests. You really are that devoted to them? You’ll love them no matter what?”

“Of course,” said Zim. “They’re my Tallest. I love my Almighty Tallest.”

This was so creepy. Zim sounded so creepy. Irk was so, _so creepy._

“Even thought they got you exiled?” pressed Dib. “You love them now, even though you got recoded and sent away? You always say you’re an Invader, but they made you a frycook.” 

“I love my Tallest forever,” said Zim. 

Then, after a pause: “I’ll love them until the day they are usurped.”

What did _that_ mean?

“Usurped? What do you mean by that?” 

Zim tutted, like this was information that Dib ought to know.

“New Tallest are crowned if they are taller than the ruling Tallest. Duh.” 

“Does that happen a lot?” 

Zim hummed in consideration. “Not really. Usually we get a new Tallest if the current one dies.” 

Dib didn’t recall hearing about any Tallests but the current ones, Red and Purple. He at least knew that the PAKs had a lifetime extension feature that made irkens pretty much immortal, and their accelerated healing technology made them really hard to kill. Dib looked over at Zim. 

“So, what, do they just live forever and die of super-old age? It’s not like they get killed. Wait, do they get killed?”

The next thing Zim did was not unfamiliar to Dib, and he knew exactly what it meant. First, he bit his lip: a habit that he had to have picked up from Dib, because it wasn’t suited to his sharp irken teeth. When he did this, he always bit down hard enough to draw blood, and— there it is. A droplet of pink irken fluid bubbled up around the tooth. Zim, who never seemed to notice, swiped at his chin with the back of his hand when the blood started trickling downward. He kept staring ahead, unfazed. By the time he’d wiped the blood from his face, the cut would be healed and it would be like nothing had happened. Zim had done this enough times the past couple of months that Dib knew the whole routine. He also knew what would come next. Next, Zim would lie.

“No,” said Zim quietly. “Not that I know of.”

Dib leaned back in his seat, thinking about the implications laid out before him. The conversation fell into a lull, both participants too lost in thought to pick it back up. Eventually, Dib spoke.

“You know,” he said, “I think I’d rather be a defective. It sounds better than just listening to what my PAK told me to do all the time. I’d rather be, y’know, an independent thinker than some drone.”

Zim eyed him, squinting.

“It’s not that simple,” he said.

“Really? Sounds like being a defective means not hearing the Control Brains telling you what to do all the time. If the PAK’s corrupted enough, you could probably be completely independent from the whole system. You can just be yourself and do what you want.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” argued Zim. “Not… not that I would know, obviously. But, everyone can hear the Brains, regardless of how bad your PAK is. The PAK’s broken if it doesn’t filter out the useless stuff.”

“Useless stuff?”

“Yeah, like, those affection-thingies and lovey feelings you were talking about. The PAK keeps you on task, so you can serve the Empire. If it doesn’t work, you still hear the Brains, you just…” Zim paused for a second, then hastily retreated from what he was about to say. “I don’t know, actually, what it’s like, because I’m not them. I just have heard that they hear the Brains, too.”

“Really?” asked Dib.

“Yep.”

So, the PAKs only break if the irken overrides its filter. Further evidence to support Dib’s theory. 

“What happens, then, to defectives who hear the brains?”

Zim shrugged. “They go crazy.” 

“Then what?”

Dib realized that Zim hadn’t blinked in a long time. His face was totally blank, too.

“They die.”

This whole conversation was giving Dib chills. He watched Zim drive, feeling a little sick to his stomach. 

“How do they die?” asked Dib.

“Different ways. Existence Evaluations. Murder. Self-destruct. PAK explodes.”

Dib tried not to think about the first few options. He didn’t even want to know what an Existence Evaluation was. 

“The PAK just explodes?” he asked.

“Eh, Yep,” said Zim awkwardly. “Sometimes, the PAK can build up an immunity to certain stuff. Like, if a defective drinks a lot of alcohol, the PAK adapts and eventually gets better at regulating its effects over time. Unless it doesn’t. Then it just blows up.” 

Dib thought on this for a while until Zim asked him what other useless holidays the people of Earth had. Dib was relieved to move on from such a loaded subject, but he still had that conversation scratching at the back of his mind for the rest of the day.

 

**iv.**

Dib lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. Today had been a good day. He and Zim had gotten along, they’d talked, and he went to bed because he was tired, not because he was angry. Still, he’d been tossing and turning for the past few hours, unable to fall asleep. He knew Zim wouldn’t be coming in tonight. He wasn’t really thinking about that.

He was more thinking about the fact that Zim was clearly a “defective” irken. He had already acted outside the influence of the Brains on multiple occasions, like when he escaped with Dib or when he did whatever he did to get exiled in the first place. Plus, if Zim was right, if functioning PAKs dampened the desire for relationships and intimacy, why did Dib have to put a healing serum on his giant hickey this morning? Why did Zim give him a shell on Sirius Minor? Why did he kiss Dib’s arm when he was done treating it? Why did he watch TV with Dib and talk about Earth and take interest in what Dib was interested if there wasn’t something there? Why had he snuck Dib extra hot sauce packets?

Why, why, why?

Dib knew why. Because Zim really _was_ defective. And that meant that there was a chance that Zim could love him. Maybe the evidence wasn’t black and white, wasn’t totally indisputable, but it was there. He felt it in his heart, even if it didn’t perfectly add up in his brain.

He loved Zim. He did, deeply and with his whole being. Even when they were fighting, he didn’t ever want Zim to leave. A day without Zim sitting in the cockpit was worse than weeks of arguing. Dib knew this to be true, because he’d been alone before. He never wanted that again. He didn’t care if it was pathetic or childish for him to fall so deeply for someone he barely knew, someone who denied even being capable of reciprocating his feelings. It really didn’t matter, though, because he knew that Zim could do it. Together, they could do anything. Really, if Dib could fight off a rock monster and break Zim out of Shloogorgh’s, Zim could love him back. He could love Dib back, just as fully and as deeply. He just needed to see it. Dib would make him see it.

Lying in bed, Dib couldn’t hear anything but the sound of his ship’s engine as they buzzed through space. It was quiet, and could even be considered peaceful, but every time Dib shifted under his blanket, his nerve endings started screaming. He tried to count himself to sleep, but he kept getting distracted, thinking back, remembering every interaction he’d had with Zim since they’d met. Watching the gormagander. Scaling the parking garage. Making eye contact for the first time. 

He reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his laptop, clicking through files until he found the folder he kept hidden from Zim. At least, he thought he kept it from Zim. Apparently, Zim had found his secret stash of porn, because all of the files had been corrupted and renamed to different variations of “Zim was here.” Dib had to laugh a little at that. He didn’t feel like going through and trying to find something that Zim hadn’t tampered with, or testing out the shitty hotspot he and Zim had tried to set up a few weeks prior. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, letting his hand drift down his belly and below the waistband of his red plaid flannels. He thought about Zim. 

After a few experimental strokes, he gave up, deciding he was too anxious and should probably just go to sleep. He could figure the rest of this out in the morning — what he meant to Zim, if they were even a couple. Whether or not Zim would ever want to touch him again. A few minutes later, though, he found himself up and walking out his bedroom door and into the cockpit. Like always, Zim’s antennae flicked up when he heard Dib coming in, but he didn’t turn around. 

“Zim?”

Zim looked over his shoulder and fixed Dib with a curious glance. He was silent. And, for the first time in his life, Dib didn’t know what to say. 

He settled for just unbuttoning his nightshirt and letting it fall to the floor behind him. Zim’s eyes flicked down to his bare chest, then back up to his face. Dib maintained eye contact as he tugged his pants down and stepped out of them. He stumbled a little, shaky on his feet as Zim watched him. When he was just in his boxers, he straightened up. His ears were on fire, and he was certain his whole face was probably beet red. He didn’t care. 

The cockpit was electric as they stared at each other in silence. A full minute passed, maybe two, and then Zim was typing coordinates into the control panel without breaking eye contact. He stood up and crossed the room to Dib. 

Without removing a glove or looking away from his face, Zim pressed a hand to Dib’s chest, over his heart, and let it stay there for a few moments. He watched his own fingers trail down Dib’s torso until he was at navy blue boxers. He hooked a finger into the waistband, then traced around until his hand was at Dib’s hip. He pulled the waistband away, then released, snapping the elastic against Dib’s skin. Dib inhaled sharply. Zim looked back up at him, scanning his face. He laid his palm flat on Dib’s hip. Finally, Zim spoke.

“This is what you want?” he asked, his voice low. 

“Yeah,” said Dib, not recognizing the gruffness in his own voice. “I do — if you do. If you’ll have me.” 

Zim’s hand tickled up Dib’s side and landed on his shoulder. He looked Dib over, top to bottom, his face flushing a little. He met Dib’s eyes again.

“Yes,” he said. “Zim will have you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh!


	7. Hindsight, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I’ll kill for that thrill of first love.” - _Falsettos_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated E for Extremely Cheesy Smut.

**i.**

Dib stepped out of the shower. He shivered at the water that he hadn’t managed to wring out of his hair as it trailed down his back. The towel that was usually hanging on its hook next to the shower was now crumpled and messy on the bedroom floor, but he found a fresh one in the cabinet below the sink. He wiped the condensation off the mirror. He dried his hair and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He reached for his toothbrush and his glasses, then he blinked at himself as the shapes in the mirror finally sharpened into his reflection. 

While he brushed his teeth, he lightly ran a finger over the twin bite marks on his neck and shoulder. Looking down at his hips, he could see one or two of the eight little punctures that hadn’t been there yesterday afternoon. They weren’t bleeding anymore, hadn’t been for a while now, but Dib still poked at the one on his left hip, wondering if there was any kind of irken equivalent to cat scratch fever. 

 

**ii.**

The soles of Dib’s feet were cold when he took Zim’s hand off his hip and held it in his. He led Zim back to the bedroom, his insides buzzing with anticipation. They stepped through the doorway, Zim following just behind him, squeezing his hand. Dib turned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He took Zim’s other hand and pulled him closer, drawing him into the space between his legs and looking up with a nervous smile. He held Zim by the hips. Zim put his hands on Dib’s shoulders, his eyes bright and glowing in the dark and his antennae pointing straight up in the air. A moment of silence, which Dib was grateful for. A second of peace, of calm, before they jump off into this new unknown together. Dib hoped that later, when he thought back on this night, he would first remember quick breaths that smelled like sour candy, the face of nervous anticipation, the feeling of fingers playing in the hair on the back of his neck. Dib rubbed little circles in Zim’s hips with his thumbs, waiting.

“What now?” asked Zim, a little shaky. 

“What do you want to do?” asked Dib, hoping that he was doing a good enough job of letting Zim know that he wouldn’t push things this time, he’d learned, he would go at whatever pace Zim wanted, only intervening if he thought it was necessary. Pilot and co-pilot, just like in the cockpit. 

Zim took Dib’s face in his hands and tilted his head to the right a little bit. Tilting his own head the opposite way, Zim leaned in and placed an uneasy kiss on the corner of Dib’s mouth. Zim pulled back with a little frown and then leaned in again, kissing Dib more fully on the lips. 

They kissed like that for a little while, gentle and slow with the occasional break where Zim would pull back and scan Dib’s face. Dib didn’t know what he was looking for when he did that, so he just attempted a reassuring smile and squeezed Zim’s hip with one hand. Zim seemed satisfied by this, and he would lean back in and continue to place soft, light kisses on Dib’s mouth. Eventually, he pulled back, moving his hands from Dib’s face to his shoulders again.

“What now?” repeated Zim.

“What do you want to do?”

Zim stared at Dib for a second, as if trying to determine if Dib was teasing him or not. Dib stared back, earnest, with a weak little smile on his face. Zim nodded. He pulled away and strode over to the head of the bed. He sat down, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. Dib watched.

“You have to at least take your shoes off if you’re gonna get on my bed,” he said. 

Zim knew that by now. He wondered if this was some kind of test.

Without a word, Zim scooted down the bed so that he was off the wall and his feet were in Dib’s lap. Dib leaned back on his hands and looked at Zim, cocking an eyebrow. Zim smirked.

A silent standoff. Eventually, Dib obliged, slowly pulling of the first, then the second, of Zim’s tall black boots. They were heavy in his hands, and he wondered what they were made of. Some kind of alien leather, it seemed, and not different from those boots Gaz wore in her very short-lived horseback riding phase. 

He looked down at Zim’s feet, which were now bare in his lap, toes wiggling. He looked back at Zim, whose grin had faltered a little. Hesitantly, not sure what was being asked of him, Dib ran a hand along the top of Zim’s foot. Before, on Sirius Minor, he hadn’t really gotten a good look at Zim’s feet. Now, he saw the inhuman slope of the arch and the extra joint in each toe. He saw that the bottoms of Zim’s feet were calloused at the heel and smooth, very smooth, along the top. Dib wasn’t really much of a foot guy, but Zim’s were nice enough that he didn’t mind having them bare on his lap, in his hands. He traced a finger along toes, noting that all of Zim’s were the same length and width. He felt a hand on his upper arm and turned to see Zim, leaned so close to his face that they were almost touching. 

“What?” he asked.

“You always do that,” said Zim, not angrily.

“Do what?”

“You always… look at me like that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dib, and then Zim’s mouth was back on his, kissing him with more boldness. 

Zim leaned back toward the pillow and Dib followed him, lying on his side so that they were facing each other, still kissing, Zim’s hand on Dib’s face and Dib’s hand holding Zim’s wrist. The kiss was slow and methodical, not like all those other times when it felt like Zim was trying to suck the life out of him. They took turns exploring each other’s mouths. 

Zim sat up, removed his gloves, and tossed them over his shoulder. Dib thought he heard them land on his dresser. Zim lay back down, this time running his hand down Dib’s bare back, feeling along his spine. 

“What’re these thingies called again?” he asked.

“Vertebrae,” said Dib. 

“Hm. What do they do again?” 

It went on like that for a while: they would kiss, Zim would run his hands over Dib’s body, and then he would pause to ask a quick question about his skin, his hair, his organs. Dib didn’t mind answering them, since he’d realized a while ago that he was in no rush. Let this odd style of foreplay continue for as long as Zim wanted. Dib gave a quick, nervous laugh when Zim ran a thumb over one of his nipples, and Zim looked up, his curious eyes squinting when he saw the deep flush on Dib’s face. Dib cleared his throat.

“That, uh. That’s sensitive.”

“It hurt?”

“Um. No.” 

Zim’s eyes went a little wide in understanding. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

And just when Dib thought that they were going to go back to their lazy make-out, Zim ghosted his thumb over it again, then a third time, until Dib had goosebumps and his heart was beating faster. Zim watched him react, rolling Dib’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Dib felt his breathing quicken, his dick harden, meanwhile Zim kept toying with him, humming, gauging Dib’s reactions like he was performing some kind of experiment. Zim pinched him harder, and Dib couldn’t help but release a loud moan. Zim stopped cold.

“I don’t—” 

Zim cut himself off, grabbing around Dib’s back and burying his face into Dib’s chest. Dib pulled back in surprise, then relaxed and snuggled closer. 

“Hey. We can stop, if you want,” whispered Dib, trying to subtly angle his pelvis away.

“I don’t want to stop,” said Zim, muffled against Dib’s chest.

“Are you sure? It’s okay if you do.”

“I just—” Zim growled, pulling Dib closer, hugging him tightly. 

They lay like that for a few minutes, Dib gently rubbing circles and then letters into Zim’s back ( _z-i-m-z-i-m-z-i-m-z-i-m-z-i-m_ ) and murmuring gentle reassurances, not ready to be suffocated by another silence between them. Eventually, after what felt like hours of _you can talk to me_ ’s and _we don’t have to do this_ ’s, Zim reemerged.

“You never shut up,” he murmured, kissing Dib lightly, then not so lightly. 

 

They had a few more false starts, and every time Dib held Zim close and told him they didn’t have to do this, he didn’t care if they stopped, but he knew Zim could feel the stiffness between them. Stupid body. It took nearly a full hour for Zim to finally let Dib pull his leggings down and suddenly his own boxers were gone and that hour felt like seconds and they were staring at each other, both fully naked, trying to make out each other’s anatomy in the dim light of Dib’s bedroom. 

It was hard to see what was between Zim’s legs from where he sat on his knees between Dib’s, but it appeared that “male” meant the same thing to irkens as it did to humans. They bumbled through a quick _what goes where_ conversation that wasn’t actually that weird. Maybe because Zim wasn’t the type to get embarrassed about stuff like this or because Dib had done this before and, really, if you can make it through one crash course in anatomy with an alien lover, the subsequent ones are significantly less awkward. 

Dib had some lube and a condom in his bedside table, which he pulled out and handed over to Zim, who had no idea what either was. So, Zim squeezed Dib’s thighs while Dib gently rolled the condom onto him, noting that Zim’s member was on the short side but thick and already slick with what Dib assumed was some kind of natural lubricant. Zim hesitantly pumped himself while he watched Dib lean back and apply a generous about of lube to two fingers and then prepare his own body, and then Zim said he was ready and it was finally happening, Zim was slipping inside him slowly and Dib moaned with relief. 

Zim was on his elbows above him, all the way in and unmoving, his eyes shut tight.

“Hey,” whispered Dib, “you okay?”

Zim nodded slightly, then with more vigor, and then he was shaking his head and Dib had no idea what was happening.

“We can stop,” said Dib for perhaps the hundredth time. Zim opened his eyes. They stared at each other.

“Does it feel good?” asked Dib, dubious. Maybe they weren’t as similar as they had thought? Zim buried his face into the nape of Dib’s neck. He pressed his forehead hard into Dib and inhaled.

“Mmm. Yes,” came the muffled reply. Dib rubbed Zim’s arms, careful not to instigate any movement farther down.

“They—” choked out Zim. He pulled out a little and then pushed back in, failing to hold back a groan.

“What?”

“They can’t know.”

A crater of guilt and pity opened so abruptly in Dib’s chest that he felt like he might be swallowed whole by it. Zim was still inside him, panting a little, teeth grinding. 

“It’s okay,” whispered Dib. “No one will know.” 

Zim exhaled shakily.

“It’s just us, Zim. No one else is here. No one will know. You’re safe. It’s alright,” repeated Dib as he placed quick, anxious kisses on the top of Zim’s head. Zim lay still for a while, then moved his hips, out and then back in a few times, letting out a breath as he did so.

“It’s okay that it feels good,” whispered Dib, and he felt sudden anger at the Irken Empire for making its people so averse to pleasure, to touching and being touched, and then, in a moment of clarity, all the times Zim jumped away from him when they were kissing made sense.

“Let yourself feel good. It’s not wrong. We’re not doing anything wrong, I promise.” 

Zim sat up on his elbows so he could stare Dib in the eye, a pleading look on his face. Dib took Zim’s face in his hands and kissed him softly.

“Trust me.” 

Zim hesitated for a second before nodding. He thrust into Dib jerkily a few more times, and Dib moaned a little. Zim looked down at him.

“You like it?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” breathed Dib. Honestly, he knew he’d be sore tomorrow, and the tension around the situation wasn’t helping him relax as much as he should, but he sat on his elbows and pushed his hips up so his whole body was flush with Zim’s, so Zim could feel that there was no denying how much he liked it. Zim dropped his head and they shared another deep kiss, and Zim moved again, picking up a slow and uneven rhythm. 

They kept kissing while they fucked, Dib mumbling words of encouragement and praise against Zim’s mouth while Zim found a steadier but still slow rhythm. Dib felt the knot in his belly unwinding as Zim became bolder in his movements, more vocal, and then, in maybe a minute, it was over. 

Zim orgasmed in the manner with which he did most things: dramatically, and with a lot of noise. 

His eyes were squeezed shut and then flew open so wide that Dib thought his ocular implants might pop out of his head. He ducked down to sink his teeth into Dib’s shoulder, practically screaming as he dug his claws into Dib’s pillow and jerked into Dib one last time.

Dib held him while he came, stroking his back and murmuring into one of Zim’s antennae. Eventually, Zim sighed and rolled off of him, flopping onto his back and closing his eyes, still breathing hard. Dib watched him for a few moments.

“Alright there, space boy?” asked Dib. 

“Huh?” 

Zim turned to face Dib, looking dazed. For the first time since Dib had met him, a grin spread on his face that was… goofy? He wore a crooked half smile, his eyes were unfocused, and he was practically radiating a post-coital glow. Dib laughed in surprise and, even more surprisingly, Zim laughed back, a carefree little giggle that made Dib just want to grab him and kiss him all over his face. So, he did. Still laughing, Zim pushed him away.

“Quit your slobbering, earth pig.” 

Dib tsked. “If I’m a pig, and you just had sex with me, what does that make you?” 

Zim grunted and turned onto his side so he could pinch Dib’s nose.

“Very, very charitable.”

“Shut up,” snapped Dib, but Zim was still pinching him, so his voice sounded all nasally. It sent them both back into a fit of giggles. Zim’s eyes trailed down Dib’s body, and he abruptly stopped laughing. 

“Dib,” he said, slowly. “You didn’t… you are still—”

Dib looked down, too, noticing that he was still pretty hard. He shrugged.

“It’s fine,” he said. 

Zim hummed, his hand trailing from Dib’s face to his belly.

“Why…?”

Dib shrugged again. He didn’t mind — he wasn’t expecting their first time together to be some kind of magical, simultaneously-orgasming fairy tale. He hadn’t been thinking much about himself during, and, if he wanted to, he could just take care of himself later. For now, he was a little overwhelmed from what had just happened, and, while Zim seemed pretty happy at the moment, he didn’t want to push it. 

He looked down at Zim’s dick, flaccid and wrapped in a used condom. He sat up on his knees and gingerly removed and tied it, then hopped off the bed and ambled into the bathroom. He tossed the condom in the trash and, noticing that he was bleeding a little, grabbed a cotton swab and some healing serum and dabbed a little on his shoulder. The medicine hurt badly enough that he didn’t bother healing it completely, just enough so that the bleeding would stop. When he got back into the bedroom, Zim was still on his back, staring at the ceiling. Dib crawled back into bed and rolled onto his side. They looked at each other.

“What now?” asked Zim. 

Dib laughed. 

“What do you want to do?” 

Zim shrugged. He pushed Dib onto his back and rolled halfway on top of him, their legs tangling together. Dib wrapped and arm around Zim’s back, just under his PAK. 

“Will we do this again?” Zim asked.

“If you want to.” 

Zim thought for a second. He leaned down and nipped Dib’s ear.

“Do you wanna… talk about it?” asked Dib. “About what you said about— you know, _them_?”

“No,” said Zim, loudly, right in Dib’s ear. 

“Zim, I really think—”

“ _No_ ,” repeated Zim, and he sat up so he was looking down at Dib. 

Dib sighed. “Okay. Fine.” 

Just add it to the long list of things they had to talk about. He squeezed Zim tighter, and they sat in silence for a few moments. 

Leaning on one elbow, Zim brought a hand to Dib’s face. He swiped a thumb under Dib’s eye, traced his eyebrows, tunneled his fingers through Dib’s hair. Dib closed his eyes. He felt Zim shift around so he was on his side and pressed against Dib. Zim’s finger ran down his nose, and he could smell the lube, dried but still sticky on Zim’s hand. Zim traced along his lips and Dib opened his mouth. He kept his eyes closed as he captured Zim’s finger in his mouth and sucked. He heard Zim gasp next to him, so he sucked again.

“I didn’t do this,” blurted Zim, too loudly in the quiet room.

“What?” asked Dib, the word garbled around Zim’s finger.

“I didn’t do this,” Zim repeated. “This… I haven’t—”

Dib opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Zim. He reached up to take Zim’s hand out of his mouth and held it in his own. 

“This was your first time?” he asked. 

Zim nodded. 

In hindsight, he knew he shouldn’t be that surprised. Knowing what he knew now about the Empire and Zim’s loyalty to his leaders, he should have figured. He hadn’t really thought about it, though he had never completely ruled out the possibility of Zim having an ex or two. Zim was constantly surprising him, plus, he was significantly older than Dib. He didn’t want to be so presumptive as to think that he would be the one Zim would lose his virginity to. Apparently, though, he was. 

“It wasn’t yours,” said Zim, matter-of-fact, and Dib nodded back. Then, a slightly horrifying thought struck him.

“Did you ever do… anything? Before me?” he asked.

Zim shook his head. “No.”

“Wow,” said Dib, his ears getting hot. “So your very first kiss was with me, when we were escaping Foodcourtia… and I had just thrown up?” 

“Yes,” said Zim, and then, after a moment: “Disgusting.” 

They locked eyes, and Dib saw that familiar smug grin on Zim’s face. He smiled back, still a little embarrassed. 

“I am… so sorry about that,” he said. Zim just shook his head.

“You are lucky I even came near you after that. It was vile.” 

“Yeah, I bet it was.” 

“But Zim is very charitable, like I said.”

Dib tried and failed to suppress a giggle. 

“Yeah, I guess you are.” 

They fell into silence for a little while, and Dib was actually pretty relaxed. He felt good about how that went, and even better about that fact that Zim was still there, snuggled into his side with his head on Dib’s shoulder. Their silence was short-lived, however.

“Who did you do this with?” asked Zim, sitting up a little so they could look at each other.

“You mean, who have I slept with?”

“No? I mean: who did you have intercourse with?” Zim asked, looking at him like he was stupid. 

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it— you know what, fine. Is that what you’re asking? Or do you want, like… the full history?”

Zim looked at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Just how many people have you been intimate with, Dib-pig?” he asked, and Dib shuffled around so they were on their sides, facing each other.

“One: stop calling me a pig. Two: if you’re asking what I think you’re asking, you don’t have to worry, I’m clean, plus we used a condom so there’s no way you could have caught anything anyway—”

“Caught? Caught what?” asked Zim. 

Dib stared.

“Uh… you know. Diseases.”

“ _Diseases_?!”

“Which I don’t have! So neither do you, jeez—”

“You didn’t tell me, you filthy—”

“ _Ohmygod_ Zim will you calm down—”

 After a quick tussle that involved Dib getting struck repeatedly over the head with his own pillow and hundreds of reassurances that Zim was safe from any sexually transmittable infections of any kind, they both ended up sitting upright on Dib’s bed, leaning against the wall and panting heavily. Zim sniffed, still indignant. Dib coughed. So much for pillow talk.

“Well?” asked Zim.

“‘Well,’ what?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Zim. 

Dib scoffed, a little lost for words. 

“You never clarified what you wanted me to tell you.”

Zim surprised Dib by turning so his legs were stretched across Dib’s lap. Dib accepted the peace offering and responded by rubbing Zim’s knee. 

“Tell me all of it,” said Zim. 

“Okay,” said Dib. “But I promise, there’s not much to tell.” 

“Okay.”

Dib looked at Zim, who was staring at him expectantly. Well. Here goes. 

“I had my first kiss when I was fifteen, which, I know, is kinda old— I mean, for a human. I guess. I don’t know.” 

Off to a great start. Zim looked at him, still interested and expectant, and Dib realized he really had no reason to be uncomfortable. This was no different from all the other times they’d told each other stories. He would just be objective, go light on the details, and he wouldn’t get into the feelings, and then, maybe, he wouldn’t come off looking like a total loser.

“It was at camp. Which, I know, is so cliché.” 

Zim just shrugged in an _if you say so_ kind of way. Right. Irkens didn’t have their first kisses at summer camp. Moving on. 

“It wasn’t even a camp, really. I thought it was. It was at this little town on the west coast that I’d been reading about forever. Lots of cool paranormal stuff reported there, like weird time stuff and gnomes and fairies and that kind of thing. So, I saw this, like, ‘mystery camp’ advertised online and I begged my dad to let me go. And I think he was just excited that I wanted to go to camp and be, you know, a normal kid, so, yeah. Off I went.

“But when I got there I realized that the ‘camp’ was just this really crappy summer job that my dad had paid a ton of money for me to do. Literally, I was just working the cash register at this gift shop.” 

“That is not… camp?” asked Zim.

“No, camp’s like… it’s like living outside and going on hikes and learning about nature and stuff. That’s what the description of the camp said, anyway. I thought we’d be living in the woods and tracking sasquatches or unicorns or whatever. Turns out I was just filling in for the girl who used to work there but had moved away for college.

“Anyway, so I was working at this really cheesy museum full of fake cryptids and crap selling overpriced merchandise for this weird old guy—”

“You kissed him?” asked Zim.

“No, just… let me finish the story, okay?” 

“Fine, fine. Please. Go on,” said Zim. 

“So, anyway, when I got there I met the guy’s great niece and nephew. That means they were his brother’s son’s kids,” Dib added before Zim could interject. Zim nodded.

“And they were actually really cool. They called themselves ‘mystery hunters,’ and we would go into the woods with their other great uncle and look for paranormal activity. They showed me a spaceship that crash landed on earth millions of years ago—”

“What kind of spaceship?” 

“I don’t know, can I finish—?”

“Yes, yes, finish your story. Pardon me for being interested.”

Dib gave Zim a look, then went on.

“So, yeah. For a lot of the summer it was the three of us: me and the mystery twins. We were the same age and we did everything together. The sister, she was so much fun. She had this pet pig that she brought with her everywhere, and she loved '80s music and was really into arts and crafts.”

Dib remembered her fondly: Long, thick hair, adhesive medical strips all over her legs, big brown eyes, and tight hugs. He still had the scrapbook she made him tucked away in his storage closet. 

“Her brother, though. He was my best friend that summer. When she was off with her friends or hanging out with their other uncle, we would read paranormal magazines at the pool and go exploring through the woods. He was really smart, and, you know. A lot like me.”

“How so?”

“We just… I don’t know. We clicked. We had the same interests, we both weren’t great at making friends. We got along really well.” 

Dib remembered him, too: that weird birthmark on his forehead, the way he got all sweaty when he was nervous, how his eyes lit up when it was two in the morning and they’d just made a breakthrough discovery. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I had a crush on both of them.” He looked over at Zim with a self-conscious laugh. “It was very confusing.” 

Zim hummed but said nothing, clearly making an effort not to interrupt. Dib rewarded him with a quick peck on the forehead.

“Anyway. It was the last day of camp and the day before summer ended. I was supposed to leave that day, but I made Driveo — my dad’s robot chauffeur that he’d sent to pick me up — wait in the car, because the next day was his birthday. So, we sat up on the water tower and he told me about his first summer in that town, how they’d fought this, like, interdimensional chaos god, and then it was midnight, and I said happy birthday, and… we kissed.” 

Zim looked down at where Dib was still rubbing his knee, then back at Dib.

“I’m done with my story. You can talk now.” 

Zim let out a breath like he’d been underwater. Dib rolled his eyes.

“Finally. I have many questions.”

“I’ll answer one.” 

“Heh? Why just one?” 

“Because it’s my story and I get to make the rules.” And because he didn’t want to get tangled up in the details of a summer that stayed preserved in his memory as one of the happiest times of his life. He didn’t want to sift through the days, which all blurred together at this point because it had been so long ago. He especially didn’t want to talk about what happened after. 

“Fine.” Zim pouted. “Where is the first-kiss boy now?” 

Dib was a little taken aback by the question, but, hell, he’d come this far. Might as well be honest. 

“I don’t know. We lost touch.” 

“How? I thought he was your friend?” asked Zim, his antennae perked.

“We just… we just did. Hey, I said one question.” 

“Tell me,” said Zim, leaning closer into him. Dib, exasperated, obliged. 

“Fine. We… I don’t know. We lived on opposite sides of the country, and, at first, we texted all the time and would video chat every week and stuff. And then, you know, we got busy with school and didn’t talk as much, but I was planning on coming back the next summer. But then. Well. He called me and told me that he couldn’t keep talking so much.”

“Why?” asked Zim.

“He… got a girlfriend. And that was it,” said Dib, trying to shrug it off like it hadn’t broken his little fifteen-year-old heart into a million pieces.

“That was it?” 

“Yup. Pretty sucky, huh?” he asked, looking at Zim. 

“You were upset?”

“I… yeah. I was really upset,” said Dib. 

“What an entirely unsatisfying ending to that story,” said Zim, his eyes narrowed. “What a wretched little dirt child.” 

“No, come on. It wasn’t his fault. We weren’t dating. We were just… two friends that kissed one time. It was fine, really. We were just kids.” 

He’d gotten over it a long time ago, and he’d only been angry for a little while. Eventually, he’d just realized that maybe he wasn’t meant to have someone in his life like that. Maybe he’d always be settling for someone who didn’t share his interests or, as it had turned out for the most part, he’d just be alone. He looked at Zim, thinking that maybe his luck was changing.

And, besides, it’s not like the whole experience had been negative. After getting to know the “mystery twins” and seeing how much they loved each other, Dib had gone home and resolved to be a better, more selfless brother. And, it had kind of worked. He had sacrificed a small amount of his own time studying the paranormal to do more stuff Gaz liked doing, and they’d actually started bonding and becoming real friends. On the night Dib got dumped via phone call, Gaz had let him cry on her shoulder and, the next day, they’d spent hours hunting around the woods for bigfoot. She'd even convinced their father to get off work early and take them out for burritos. So, it wasn’t totally awful, and Dib tried to remember that summer for what it was: teenage infatuation, intense but fleeting. And after it was over, he received a hand-knit sweater in the mail. It had a smiley face on it.

Next to him, Zim was still grumbling. Maybe he was more perceptive than Dib had thought, or maybe Dib wasn’t as good as hiding his feelings as he’d thought. Dib shifted so his cheek was resting on the top of Zim’s head. 

“You don’t have to get all pissy in my behalf. It was, like, ten years ago. I promise, I’m over it.” 

Zim huffed. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose you had better be.” 

Dib laughed. 

“Who else, then?” asked Zim. “After the camp boy?” 

“Well,” said Dib. “Nothing for a couple of years after that. Until prom.” 

Ah, prom. What a disaster. 

“The adolescent coital dancing party?” asked Zim. 

“Yeah,” said Dib. “The girl I went with was named Gretchen.”

Gretchen had liked Dib for years, and he had kind of known, but he hadn’t had much interest in her. Then, suddenly, everyone at school was coupling up in time for the dance, and he felt like the world’s biggest loser for not having a date. Gretchen asked him when they were partnered together for chemistry, and he said yes, even though, coincidentally enough, he didn’t really think they had any chemistry. But, he’d been desperate and she’s gotten really pretty since her mandible grew in. He’d picked her up in his dad’s old hovercar prototype, which had huge dents in it but was also matte black. Very sexy, very Bruce Wayne, Dib had thought.

“Yeah, so. We got there, and it was at our Hi Skool gym and The Letter M had spiked the punch bowl so were were all just… tipsy and dancing like idiots. It was actually pretty fun.”

He looked at Zim, thinking how weird it was that Zim had never done anything like that before. He wondered, briefly, what Zim would be like as a teenager at prom, dressed in an ill-fitting tuxedo and dancing to crappy music. It was kind of unfathomable. 

“Then… it was over. And everyone left to go to some after party I wasn’t invited to so it was just me and Gretchen, and I didn’t feel great about driving, you know, because of the punch, so we just sat in the gym parking lot and talked, and then we started kissing, and, yeah…”

Next thing Dib knew, they were in the backseat of his dad’s hovercar and he was unzipping his pants and the skirt of Gretchen’s dress was hiked up to her waist and he was digging around in her purse for a condom because he hadn’t thought to bring one himself. 

“We did it.” 

“The intercourse?”

“Yeah,” Dib chuckled. “We did the intercourse.”

“And…?” Zim pressed. “Was it… nice?” 

“Well… no. I kinda, um, freaked out. Like, right when it happened, and it was really awkward and humiliating. She was really sweet about it though, acting like she wasn’t upset or anything, even though I knew she was.”

“Why did you… freak out?” asked Zim. 

“I just… it wasn’t what I wanted. And I knew I didn’t want it, with her I mean, but I wanted to _do_ it, so I just, tried not to think about it and then when it was happening I felt like a huge jerk. So I freaked out.” 

“Hmm,” said Zim. “And then what happened?” 

“She drove me back to my house and then walked home. It was awful.” 

“Yes,” said Zim, nuzzling into Dib’s shoulder. “it sounds awful.” 

“Yeah,” said Dib. “It was weird at skool on Monday. But she was nice. We talked a little bit about it, but, I don’t know. I don’t think she liked me very much after that. We texted a little when we both got to college, and then, you know. Lost touch.” 

A beat of silence.

“Was that it?” Zim asked.

“What?”

“Was she the last one?” 

“Oh. No.” 

No one else on Earth. He’d stayed away from relationships in college and went back to focusing on his work. 

“Who, then?”  


“Well. I got to space, and the first planet I landed on was this little one in the Vega System. It was kind of a refugee planet, because that system had seen a lot of war. I’m sure you know that, though.”

He looked at Zim, whose expression was blank.

“I guess not. Zeta Sector stuff.” 

Zim hummed, uninterested.

“Anyway, I met this guy there. He looked a lot like a human, but his skin was, like… more golden. And he was really tall—”

“How tall?!” snapped Zim. 

“Really tall!” Dib shot back. “Taller than me.” 

Zim pulled away, shifting so his back was against the wall and his knees were drawn up to his chin. He pouted. 

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” 

Dib decided that maybe it would be best not to tell Zim that this particular alien had an odd, long name, so Dib had secretly always just called him “Adonis” in his head. 

“Nope. No jelly here,” grumbled Zim. 

Dib laughed a little and wrapped an arm around Zim’s shoulders. 

“You did it with him, too?” asked Zim.

“Yeah,” said Dib. “And two others in the past three years. It didn’t mean anything, though. It wasn’t like this.” 

“Like what?” asked Zim, his face buried in his knees. Dib squeezed his shoulder tighter.

“Like what we have. I didn’t care about them like I care about you.” 

Zim unclenched a little. He looked up at Dib, who offered a small smile. Dib leaned down and kissed Zim lightly on the mouth. Zim kissed him back eagerly, coaxing Dib’s mouth open and slipping his tongue in. Dib allowed it, happy to have defused the grumpy irken until he felt Zim finger-walking his way from the front of his thigh to his crotch. He grunted a little at the feeling of Zim’s hand wrapping around his dick and then lightly pumping him. He pulled back. 

“Do you want to, um—”

“Yes,” said Zim, firm and confident. “I would like to have intercourse again. Would you?”

“Uh. Yup.” 

“Okay, then.” 

They went back to making out, and Dib reached into his bedside table for the lube. He was thankful, now, that he hadn’t tossed out all the condoms he’d bought when he was feeling confident after his night with Adonis. At least he could finally put some more of them to good use. 

They lubed up their hands and reached for each other’s dicks, and Dib remembered that Zim’s had retreated back into some kind of sheath while they were talking. Interesting. He started to hypothesize about the logistics of irken mating, but then Zim, now fully unsheathed and hard, let out a moan, more unrestrained than Dib had ever heard him, and all thoughts of scientific endeavor were squashed. They touched each other while Dib reached between his legs and fingered himself, an act he figured Zim would do another time. There was something else that he wanted to try, and he didn’t want to put too much on Zim at once. Once he felt ready, he pulled a condom from his nightstand and handed it to Zim, who unwrapped it and rolled it on with relative ease. 

“Can I try something?” he asked.

“Try what?” asked Zim, suspicious. 

“Here...”

Carefully, Dib straddled Zim’s lap so they were facing each other and Zim was between Dib and the wall he was leaning against. Zim looked at him, uncertain. 

“Is this okay?” asked Dib.

“You want to do it like this?” replied Zim, his voice low. 

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Okay.” 

Dib spread his legs a little more and slid down, taking Zim in. They both let out a shaky little sigh. Dib cupped Zim’s cheek in one hand and kissed him. 

“Are you okay?” whispered Dib.

“Yes,” murmured Zim. “Keep going.” 

Dib rode him slowly and planted soft kisses on his face. He wanted to try this, to invite Zim to relinquish some control. He wasn’t an expert at sex by any stretch, but he knew a few things, things he was desperate to teach Zim. This could be a good start.

Zim kissed him back, but he could sense the hesitation. Dib pulled back and looked at Zim — his flushed face, his trembling antennae, his big, nervous eyes. Zim looked small and timid beneath him. Dib paused for a bit, realizing that this might be too much. They needed a compromise. He kissed Zim lightly on his cheek and reached for his hands, which were clutching at the sheets. He placed Zim’s hands on his own hips, pressing them into his skin and moving a little more. Zim hummed in understanding and started to push and pull Dib’s hips, toward and away from him, up and down, controlling the pace.

Dib knew he wouldn’t last long. He’d known it the second they’d started. Zim coaxed his hips forward and back, grunting and moaning as Dib grinded down on him. Dib, already vocal by nature, spilled stream-of-consciousness ramblings between peppering Zim's face with more kisses. He got louder as Zim started thrusting up from below him, his voice competing with the sounds of their skin slapping together, and Dib propped himself up, leaning his elbows against the wall on either side of Zim’s head so that he could hover just over Zim’s body while Zim pushed up into him, faster and harder. 

He ducked his head down to place humid kisses down Zim’s neck, pausing only to grunt out encouragement, praise, anything, he didn’t really know what he was saying because all he could hear was Zim’s heavy breathing and impossibly loud moans. The air around them was sweltering and heavy, and they were both sweating. Dib’s room smelled like lube and sex, and he knew he didn’t have much longer to go and Zim probably didn’t, either. Did irkens even have a refractory period? Dib would ask later. 

Zim was saying something to him, asking him to do something. Dib nodded, then reached between them to pump himself. His thighs were shaking with the effort of staying suspended above Zim, who was now digging sharp irken nails deep into the skin of his hips and ass. He hissed a quick warning through his teeth before he came and then cried out Zim’s name as he shot between them. He felt Zim’s teeth on his neck, biting him hard and he knew that Zim was climaxing, too. He shouted Zim’s name hoarsely, over and over, and the irken jerked up into him a final time.

Dib’s bedroom, _The Mothman_ , space itself was silent, frozen in time while Dib and Zim came down from their high, panting into each other’s faces and finally, blissfully, Dib was hit with a wave of tranquility, the grip of desire and lust finally loosening. He leaned down and pressed his sweaty forehead against Zim’s, grinning in response to seeing that dopey smile reappear. 

“You really don’t ever shut up,” whispered Zim.

This time Zim fetched a towel for the two of them while Dib, boneless, lay stretched out in bed. They cleaned themselves up and Zim dabbed a little healing serum on Dib’s neck, only half apologetic about it. Dib didn’t really care. He reached up to massage Zim’s shoulder, gripping hard at the sting of the serum. When it was over, he let his hand trail down Zim’s chest and paused at a patch of puckered, uneven skin.

“What’s this?” he asked. 

Zim hummed, then took Dib’s hand so it lay flat against the center of his chest, and he could feel that it was shaped like an upside down triangle, smaller than the size of Dib’s palm. 

“Irken military symbol.”

“All the soldiers get this?” Dib asked.

“We do on our foreheads. They fade by the time we graduate academy. Can’t invade if we’ve got an irken symbol on our foreheads.”

“How’d you get this, then?”

“Did it myself. Do you like it?”

Dib had never heard Zim talk like that. His voice was higher and he spoke quickly, like he was seeking Dib’s approval. He hummed, thinking that, no, he didn’t actually like it at all. But he couldn’t tell Zim that. 

“How’d you do it?” he asked instead. 

“It was difficult, with the healing abilities of my PAK,” said Zim. “Eventually, I got the formula for the ink right and it stayed permanent.”

Dib felt along the scar. It felt deep, and it made Dib wince to think of Zim trying that hard to brand himself. How many attempts had it taken? When he was eighteen, he’d given himself a stick ’n’ poke tattoo of the Swollen Eyeball logo on his arm, but that had faded long ago, and he hadn’t bothered getting a real one. He traced his fingers over the puckered skin of Zim’s chest, feeling a pang in his gut at how the entire thing reeked of desperation. 

They crawled under the covers and snuggled together, whispering about what had just happened and then talking about nothing at all until Dib realized that Zim was asleep, snuggled into his chest, his PAK dimmed so there was almost no light coming from it. 

Dib squeezed Zim tightly, stroking his back for a few minutes until he felt himself drifting off to the strange, soft clicking sound that was coming from Zim’s PAK. 

 

**iii.**

Dib thought about Irk. He hated it, now more than ever. He hated the way the Tallest ruled. He hated how little they valued their people and how much influence the Control Brains had over everyone’s lives, their thoughts, their fears. He hated that Zim felt like he was betraying his planet by following his own instincts and pursuing his own desires. Really, how scared were the irken leaders of losing their following if their own people weren’t allowed to love anyone _but_ them? Rules like that just made them look pathetic and weak. And cruel. Not that he’d had any great leaders for comparison — in the final years before Dib left Earth, President Man had announced his plan for actual world domination and had been doing a pretty good job at it. Whatever. That wasn’t Dib’s problem. 

He hoped that being in love made Zim feel as powerful, as unstoppable, as it made Dib feel. And every moment with Zim, loving him and holding him and being with him, was an act of rebellion against Irk and its dystopian, authoritarian regime. With every kiss, every touch, they were confirming what Dib had known to be true for weeks now. Every night they spent together from now until the end of time was proof that love conquers fear and that Dib and Zim, together, really could do anything. Because, if last night was any indication, Zim might love his Tallest (because he had to), but he loved Dib more. 

Dib was sure of it.

He hadn’t been in any rush to get out of bed this morning, since he had a feeling it wouldn’t be as comfortable sitting in the co-pilot’s seat as it normally was. He looked at himself in the mirror. Not bad. He thought he looked better than he had when they were getting ready to land on Sirius Minor. A little buffer, maybe, but, also, more handsome? Maybe that family resemblance was finally kicking in. His hair was even behaving today. He squared his shoulders and took a breath. He _did_ look good. Maybe because he felt good.

Dib pulled on the blue gym shorts he’d lent Zim a few weeks ago. They’d shown up on his dresser the morning after Dirt, but the sweatshirt was still missing. He would have to ask Zim about that. He grabbed an old maroon t-shirt and walked, barefoot, into the cockpit. He approached the pilot’s seat, where Zim was sitting in silence. He ducked down and placed a quick kiss on Zim’s cheek. Zim, surprised, flinched away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spearheading the Falsettos/Invader Zim crossover campaign because "The Thrill of First Love" is an angsty ZaDr anthem.
> 
> Also, yes... Gravity Falls. Had to do it. Please don't hate me.


	8. Cyberflox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona, mi prese del costui piacer sì forte…” - Dante

**i.**

They rebelled against the Empire so much, they were practically a two-man revolution. Dib had been hopeful after their first night together, since they’d had sex not once, but twice, but his cautious optimism was no match for Zim’s newly-awakened libido. In their final four weeks aboard _The Mothman_ , they rebelled against Irk in every room of the ship. 

They ended their sparring sessions by chasing each other into Dib’s bedroom. When they didn’t have time for that, they had each other on the cold, metal floor of _The Mothman_ ’s main hull. There was also a memorable time below deck, up against the water tanks. 

Plus, there was that one time when they were passing a binary star system and Zim took him in the cockpit. Bent over the dashboard, Dib glanced back and forth between an astrological phenomenon he’d never seen before and their reflection in the windshield, Zim’s face contorted into that look of pure ecstasy that Dib could never get enough of. Afterwards, Zim had refused to help him clean his mess, and they’d argued over it until Zim let himself be shoved into the pilot’s seat and kissed until they both forgot what they’d been fighting about. And, after that, Zim had even silently picked up a wet wipe and cleaned between a few keys on the control panel. 

And there was that other time: they’d been feeling adventurous, so they’d tried to do it in the shower. After ten minutes of shifting their positions, having to constantly reapply lube, and not being able to settle on what temperature they wanted the water, Zim just tossed Dib over his shoulder and teetered over to the bed, nearly tripping over clothes and boots on his way. Dib couldn’t stop laughing, too tickled by the circumstances and Zim’s frustrated growling to care that he was still soaking wet and getting cold. Zim dumped him gracelessly onto the bed and then mounted him, still grumbling about the shower in what Dib could see was a lame attempt to hide his own stupid smile. Dib loved this, he loved Zim, and he kept giggling as Zim kissed him all over his face and pressed their bodies together, and suddenly he wasn’t so cold anymore. 

He never told Zim he loved him, or asked if Zim loved him back. He knew what was between them, how strong and familiar and important it was, and he didn't feel the need to talk about it. Sometimes, it felt like his own love for Zim was too intense for Zim _not_ to love him back.

They still bickered, although neither was as short-fused as they’d been before. But, sex brought its own set of complications, and Dib sometimes felt like _The Mothman_ wasn’t a ship at all, but an asteroid, hurtling through space with a countdown on how much time was left before it entered a strange atmosphere, burst into flames, and exploded into a million pieces. Because, for every moment of honeymoon bliss they enjoyed, there was another moment, just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and send Dib into a fit of worry and panic. 

Zim never mentioned “them” again — in fact, any stories or details about his home world were suddenly no longer in his road trip conversation repertoire. During sex, it was amazing, and it was like all thoughts of deactivation were gone from his brain. There were other times, though, that scared Dib. Times when Zim wouldn’t speak for hours, his antennae twitching wildly, or when Dib would reach for him and he would reel back in surprise, like he’d never been touched before and didn’t know what to do about it. If Zim initiated things, they could be in bed all day without a single hiccup. If Dib did, he ran the risk of being tormented by Zim and chastised for even suggesting such a thing.

Zim didn't sleep as much as Dib, and he only slept at all if they’d been intimate the day before. In the mornings, Dib would come out of his room and find an entirely different Zim from the one who’d fallen asleep in his arms the night before. In the mornings, Zim was sharp-edged and formal. He would chat with Dib, but only about certain things, and any joking or touching made him uncomfortable. Later, as the day went on, Zim would relax, become more pliant, more affectionate. Dib got the feeling it had to do with his PAK and how capable he was of ignoring its commands. 

As the weeks went by, it seemed like Zim was two different people, people Dib privately referred to as “PAK Zim” and “Real Zim.” He wondered if, one day, Zim would be able to completely, permanently rebel from the PAK’s demands. He also feared that, one day, the pressure of the situation would just make Zim snap and completely lose his mind. He tried to be optimistic, though. Together, they would find a solution. They just had to get past Cyberflox first. And, they had a few other issues that they could work on for the time being.

Zim obviously enjoyed sex, and Dib was confident that Zim wanted _him_ , specifically. He could tell by how desperate Zim was to make him feel good, to reciprocate whatever Dib did for him. Still, Zim tried to take the lead every time, and was often hesitant to let Dib take control in any way. He was open to Dib’s suggestions almost exactly half the time, and, the other half, he tried to brush off his own inexperience like it didn’t even exist. Sometimes, Dib would find them bickering in the middle of sex, arguing over the tiniest thing that Dib had said, and then the whole mood would be ruined. Worst of all, Zim sometimes denied that they had ever even been together, like everything from their first kiss to their romp the day before had never occurred.

It happened, once, so badly that Dib had holed himself up in his room for the better part of an afternoon. They’d been on his bed, naked and warm and sweaty from sparring. Dib had put real effort into taking things slow, letting their physical relationship develop at whatever pace Zim wanted, and he was genuinely certain that they might be ready to take a new step. He’d asked if he could show Zim something new, Zim insisted that he knew everything, Dib corrected him, maybe a little too bluntly, and the whole argument spiraled from there, ending with Zim putting his tunic on inside-out and trying to gaslight Dib into thinking they’d never done anything in the first place. Eventually, Dib just kicked him out and slammed his bedroom door shut.

He lay on his side, back to the door, confused and upset and sniffling. 

Zim came in later, quietly slipping out of his boots and crawling under the covers. By that time, Dib had fallen into a light, fitful nap, and he jumped a little at the feeling of Zim’s front against his back. He let out a shaky breath and buried his face deeper into the pillow. 

“Dib,” murmured Zim. 

Dib just shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything.

“Dib, I… I’m trying.” 

Zim slipped his hand under Dib’s t-shirt and ghosted across his belly. Dib shivered. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Dib asked, not turning around, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Just be honest and tell me how you’re feeling instead of getting defensive every time.”

“I just… I said I’m _trying_.” 

Dib grunted, a fresh wave of annoyance washing over him.

“You’re such a jerk sometimes.” 

Zim sighed, and Dib could feel him rubbing his forehead against Dib’s back. Zim hugged him tight, and, for a long time, they said nothing. 

Then, Zim’s hand was moving from Dib’s belly to his hip, lightly scratching letters up his side ( _s-o-r-r-y-s-o-r-r-y-s-o-r-r-y_ ). Dib felt himself relax back against Zim, and Zim held him tightly, again, his antennae brushing through Dib’s hair. 

Dib took Zim’s hand and squeezed. Zim rubbed his cheek against Dib’s shoulder blade and squeezed back harder. 

Dib knew that this scared Zim. He knew that, even now, being vulnerable and expressing himself was difficult for Zim. It was why he put up walls, why he pushed Dib away, and why he refused to let Dib’s mouth travel past his shoulders. Dib knew it would be worth it to break past all of these barriers. He also knew that Cyberflox was looming, weeks and then days away, and he had no idea what would happen next. 

Honestly, this whole thing scared Dib too, a little. He’d never been in love, and he’d never even slept with the same person twice before Zim. He tried to be patient, to let Zim have his tantrums. Being in love was daunting, but, as Dib quickly realized, being alone was worse. And he grew so afraid that Zim would up and leave him once they got to Cyberflox, he couldn’t even bring himself to talk about issues that weighed on his mind even as he was falling asleep with Zim pressed against him. How could he, though? He couldn’t just casually ask Zim why he’d lied about the wormhole, why he’d been banished to Foodcourtia, why Tak hated him, why his PAK always made that weird clacking sound when they made love… et cetera. All he could do was sit here, stuck, filled with anticipation and dread for what would happen next.

 

**ii.**

Zim had programmed _The Mothman_ to alert them when they were ten minutes away from entering Cyberflox’s atmosphere. They were sitting on Dib’s bed when the ship’s alarm started beeping, Dib slouched between Zim’s legs, laptop on his lap, Zim playing with his hair. They both jumped when they heard the ringing, even though they had known it would be any time now. 

“We’re almost there,” said Zim, his fingers still twirling the hair of Dib’s cowlick. 

Dib leaned the back of his head against Zim’s chest. He grunted in acknowledgement. 

“That means you have to get off of me.” 

“Mmm,” Dib hummed. “Nah.” 

Zim leaned forward to pause the episode of _Mysterious Mysteries_ they’d been watching. He nudged the top of Dib's head with his cheek. Dib squeezed Zim’s knee.

“I have to land the ship, lazy Dib,” murmured Zim. His long tongue extended down to quickly brush along the shell of Dib’s ear. Dib felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“In ten minutes, you do,” said Dib, taking Zim’s hand out of his hair and lacing their fingers together.

“Which means I should start preparing now,” added Zim, sliding the laptop off Dib’s lap and putting it on the bedside table. “That’s why I programmed the alarm to ring at this time.”

“You’re just too thorough. I’ve seen you land. You don’t need that much time,” said Dib, plucking off Zim’s glove and tossing it aside.

“There’s no such thing as _too thorough_ ,” sneered Zim as he pulled off his other glove.

“I’m just saying,” said Dib, pretending to fidget while deliberately grinding, “you don’t need ten minutes to get the ship ready for landing. I should know. I built it.” 

Zim hummed. “A fair point, I suppose,” he said. “What do you propose I do with this extra time, then?” 

Dib grabbed one of Zim’s hands and placed it directly on his own crotch. Zim squeezed. 

“Lecherous little worm,” growled Zim, grabbing Dib’s face with his other hand and bringing their mouths together. 

 

Roughly eight minutes later, Zim was stumbling into the cockpit with only one glove on while Dib applied healing serum to a shallow bite on the back of his neck. By the time Dib got into the cockpit, they were just outside the planet's atmosphere, passing huge, floating billboards that said stuff like “ALL YOUR BLACK MARKET NEEDS” and “MURDER TOOLS.” Dib slid into the co-pilot’s seat and buckled up for landing. 

It didn’t take long for them to enter the atmosphere of the little blue planet. It looked a lot like Foodcourtia: big, obnoxious billboards with simplistic advertising slogans like “BUY,” or even just “!!!!,” impossibly tall buildings, and not a plant in sight. Dib wondered what it was like, living on a planet where every square inch was covered with metal and concrete. It seemed pretty awful. As they flew over the planet, he also noted that this particular planet didn’t have the warmth or friendliness of Foodcourtia. Maybe because, as Zim had explained, it wasn’t under the control of the Empire, so it didn’t have the same uniformity and upscale infrastructure as some of the other planets Dib had been to. Instead, it was a melting pot of different languages and cultures, all mashed together in single, planet-encompassing city composed of narrow streets and old, dilapidated buildings. 

They docked in a large ship that hovered over the center of the city. The ship looked similar to how Zim had described his voot cruiser, from the wide, curved windshield to the purple exterior. Even the thruster jets were the same type as the ones on Zim’s voot, although these were notably larger. 

All over the ship were projections of the phrase “Fitzoo-Menga” and an image of a life form that Dib didn’t recognize. The being had four eyes with actual pupils and white sclerae. He even had what looked like a little toupee on the top of his head. And was that a goatee? Dib found this person unsettlingly human-like and also kind of creepy in general, which, for Dib, was pretty rare. But Zim seemed confident as they opened the windshield and hopped out, only to be immediately stopped by a huge guard with broad shoulders, tan skin, and three heads. 

“Invader Zim?” asked the guard, looking Zim up and down. 

“The one and only,” replied Zim, puffing his chest out. Dib rolled his eyes. 

The guard took note of Dib and peered down at him, all six of his eyes squinting. 

“You didn’t mention a plus one,” he growled.

“Didn’t think I had to,” shrugged Zim, and Dib felt the gears in his head turning. When would Zim have mentioned anything to anyone? He remembered the video transmitter, a long forgotten argument. Was that what it had really been for? Why hadn’t Zim just said—

“Will that be a problem?” asked Zim, standing on his toes, his fists clenched. The guard raised his eyebrows at the display, his gaze darting between Dib and Zim.

“Of course not,” said the guard. “Right this way.” 

They left the hangar, and Dib found himself following Zim and the nameless guard through a labyrinth of hallways and elevators. Dib noted that the ship had high ceilings, which was energy inefficient and a waste of space. He guessed that whoever designed this ship wasn’t big on practicality. He also noticed that the ship’s technology was some kind of confusing knockoff of irken tech — the mechanisms to open doors, the elevators, even the guard’s plasma gun were almost-but-not-quite copies of what he’d seen on Empire planets. 

They’d been walking for about ten minutes when he grabbed Zim by the shoulder and hunched down a bit to whisper into his antennae.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Zim jumped a little at the feeling of Dib’s hand on his shoulder.

“I just have to make a quick stop. Then we’ll beam down.”

“Beam down? We… we’re leaving my ship here?”

Zim looked up, annoyed. 

“Yes, of course we are. This is the safest place to keep it. Don’t worry.”

Dib dug his fingers into Zim’s shoulder. Zim squeaked.

“You couldn’t have told me we were leaving it behind? I left my wallet in there. And I don’t even think you locked up.” 

Zim turned to face him, walking backwards.

“Cease your fretting. There is nothing to fret about,” he hissed.

“Oh, I’m _gonna_ fret—”

“We’re here,” said the guard, who stopped short at an ornate purple door at the end of the hallway they’d been walking down. Zim bumped into the guard’s back with a grunt. 

“Finally,” growled Zim, shooting one last glare back at Dib before following the guard through the doorway. 

The room was huge, with the same high ceilings and bare walls as the hallway. Dib realized they must have walked all the way to the bow of the ship, because the wall directly ahead of them was no wall at all, but part of the giant, rounded window that took up the entire front of the ship. From here, Dib could see Cyberflox, and he realized that it was morning down there — the planet’s star appeared to have just passed the horizon, and he could more clearly make out what was below him in the natural light. Even from here, it looked unkempt, dirty, devoid of any order. It wasn’t until the singular chair on the far side of the room swiveled his way that he realized that he, Zim, and the guard weren’t the only ones in this room.

“Zim!” The chair swiveled around fully to reveal a being, a member of a race Dib had never seen before. It sent chills up his spine. “How good it is to see you again!”

“Virooz,” answered Zim cooly. “Likewise.” 

The creature’s eyes darted from Zim, to Dib, to the guard, to the planet behind him. He coughed.

“While we’re planet-side,” he said, “I’d prefer you call me Fitzoo-Menga. If you’re okay with that.”

“Ugh. Fine,” said Zim. Next to him, Dib’s jaw was hanging open.

_This_ was Fitzoo-Menga? The guy who owned all of Cyberflox? He looked nothing like the pictures that were being projected outside the ship. He looked much, much worse.

Zim hadn’t mentioned Fitzoo-Menga, or Virooz, or whoever this guy was. Dib had gathered on his own that he was in charge, given that his name and face (well, not _this_ face) were everywhere, on buildings and floating billboards all over the place. The person he was looking at, though, didn’t look nearly as refined. And Dib wouldn’t have even considered him “refined” in the first place. 

Fitzoo-Menga sat in a chair that carried him over to Zim on tiny metal spider legs. His head was huge, and, instead of four eyes, he had three. Where his forth was in the pictures, there was an implant, red and glowing and leaking some kind of acid down the side of his face. He had another implant, a wire similar to Tak’s, only his was surrounded by painful-looking varicose veins. In fact, he had quite a few implants, all over his face, that blinked and beeped and looked like they were burning the skin around them.

One of his hands was a claw, and the other looked like it had somehow mutated and joined with the sleeve of his suit. His head was attached by a few wires to the chair he was sitting on. His suit was covered in blue stains. His teeth looked like they were rotting out of his head. His feet were bare, and there appeared to be some kind of infection beneath his toenails. He smelled like shit. Every instinct Dib had told him to get the hell away from this creature.

“Hello,” said Fitzoo-Menga, and Dib realized he’d been staring. “Who might you be?”

“Um. Dib. I— My name is Dib. Nice to meet you, uh—”

“Fitzoo-Menga.” He looked past Dib, at the guard behind them. “Go away.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard shuffled out, backwards, in a deep bow. The door slid shut behind him.

“Maaaaaaan!” shouted Fitzoo-Menga. “I thought you’d never get here! What took you so long?”

Next to Dib, Zim looked unshaken by the sudden change in demeanor. Dib swallowed.

“We had a couple of detours. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“‘We,’ huh?” asked Fitzoo-Menga, looking over at Dib. “So, you brought me a present? Nice and tall, too.”

Before Dib could react, Zim was standing in front of him, blocking him from Fitzoo-Menga with clenched fists and a deep, throaty growl.

“I did no such thing. He is not for you,” Zim hissed.

“Alright, alright, take it easy! No biggie. Just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” said Zim, his voice low. 

“Lighten up, man! I’m not here to steal your loot!” said Fitzoo-Menga with a cheesy grin. “If you _are_ keeping it, though, I would recommend at least putting a leash on it. You bring that thing down there and it’ll be sold to the highest bidder faster than you can say—”

“Enough!” barked Zim. 

Fitzoo-Menga reeled back, surprised, but he recovered quickly. He looked at Dib.

“Where are you from, anyway?” he asked.

“The Dib is from the Zeta Sector, quadrant four. Planet Earth,” snapped Zim before Dib could reply. Dib paused, trying to remember if he’d ever told Zim he was from quadrant four.

“The Zeta Sector? Hey, that’s where I’m from!” exclaimed Fitzoo-Menga.

“Really?” asked Dib. 

“Heh. No. Gross.” 

Between them, Zim growled again. 

“Can we just get on with it?” he asked.

“Sure, sure. I expect you’ll be keeping your ship here for the time being. I’ll have it outfitted with everything you need to get back to the Omega Sector in good time. Plus, you know…” Fitzoo-Menga looked from Dib to Zim, back to Dib, back to Zim.

Zim sighed in exasperation.

“Yes. I know,” said Zim. 

“Know what?” asked Dib, and when he got no reply, he grabbed Zim by the upper arm.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his teeth gritted.

Zim looked from Dib to Fitzoo-Menga and back. Fitzoo-Menga just shrugged.

“Fine.” 

As Dib dragged Zim to the other side of the room, he heard Fitzoo-Menga say something about Zim training his pets better. It made Dib want to punch him in the face. 

When they got to the window, Dib leaned down so he was right in Zim’s face.

“What the hell is going on here?” he hissed.

Zim took a step back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said primly. Dib clenched his fists.

“Who is this guy? What are we even doing here?” His stomach dropped. “And why does he think you brought me here as a gift for him?” 

Zim huffed, avoiding eye contact.

“He is… being presumptuous. Obviously I didn’t bring you all the way here just to give you away.” 

“Okay, well, it doesn’t feel that obvious, so—”

“It doesn’t?”

Dib paused and looked down at Zim, who at least had the decency to look upset. 

“No, it feels like you’re not telling me everything, which is making me nervous—”

“Just hold on,” said Zim, and all of a sudden he was taking Dib by the wrist and dragging him back across the room. He slammed a button on the wall and the door jerked open, revealing the guard from earlier. Zim gave Dib a rough shove through the threshold.

“Take him back to his ship. I need a private moment with Virooz.” 

From behind them: “I’d like you to call me—”

“Oh, _whatever_!” Zim snapped back at Fitzoo-Menga. He turned around caught Dib’s eye.

“I’ll be right there. Wait for me in the ship.” 

Zim tossed him the keys, the door shut, and Dib was alone. Well, not totally alone.

“Come on, then,” said the guard, and then Dib was walking back the way he came, following a strange person through a strange ship, absolutely boiling with rage.

 

Zim returned to the ship a few minutes after Dib did. Dib had been waiting for him, sitting in the pilot’s seat with his feet up on the dashboard, eating the last candy bar. Zim had to knock on the windshield a few times before Dib popped it open.

“You said I could have that!” exclaimed Zim.

Dib just looked at him, one brow raised. He took another bite.

Zim composed himself relatively quickly, climbing into the ship and marching over to where Dib was reclining. He stood by Dib, back straight.

“Er… did you have a nice walk back?” he asked. Dib just stared at him, chewing.

“Oooh… kay. Well,” Zim lifted his chin, “I have made arrangements for us to take your ship down into the city. There is a suitable parking structure there that Virooz highly recommends. You may… choose an SF-Drive, and we can install it ourselves.” 

Dib blinked, a little taken aback.

“I thought you said we were leaving the ship here,” he said, trying to still appear uninterested.

“Yes, well, you didn’t _want to_ , so I informed Virooz—”

“How do you know him?”

“Heh?” 

“How do you know Virooz? Or Fitzoo-Menga, or whatever his name is?” asked Dib.

Zim sighed and looked at the floor. 

“We met on Foodcourtia a long time ago. He’s a fan of my work.”

They sat in silence for a while, just staring at each other.

“Wow,” said Zim, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I can’t believe my luck. The Dib-creature finally stops talking.”

He gave Dib a pointed look. Dib glared.

“I’m trying to make this better, Dib,” said Zim. “I know you didn’t like what he was saying about you. I’ve made arrangements so we don’t have to see him again. We can fly your ship down to the city, get the SF-Drive, and be done with this place.”

Dib paused to consider this. It seemed like a fair enough deal. Plus, he really didn’t want to be mad at Zim right now. Not when this could be the first of their last days together.

“Fine. But no funny business,” said Dib. “And I’m driving.”

Dib had gotten his feet off the dashboard and was about to put the key in the ignition when he noticed Zim approaching him. He leaned back a little in his seat and let Zim climb into his lap and bury his face in the crook of Dib’s neck. Dib wrapped his arms around Zim, the embrace making him somehow feel better and worse at the same time.

“Sorry,” mumbled Zim.

“It’s okay,” sighed Dib. “It’s not a big deal. Let’s just forget about it.” 

Zim stayed in his arms for another few moments, squeezing him tight. Eventually, he pulled away, left a lingering kiss on Dib’s lips, and walked over to the co-pilot’s seat. 

“Ready?” asked Dib, closing the windshield and turning on _The Mothman_.

“Ready.”

 

**iii.**

A few minutes later, they were parking in a high-security garage that Zim explained was for Fitzoo-Menga’s personal cruisers. Dib triple-checked that _The Mothman_ was locked up and followed Zim outside to the bustling streets of Cyberflox.

Cyberflox looked even grittier from the streets than it did from the sky which, by the way, was an unnerving shade of green. Which is saying a lot, because Dib _liked_ the color green. The streets were littered with garbage, and the shop windows around them advertised everything from organs to weapons to crepes. There were species that Dib didn’t recognize speaking languages that he didn’t understand, and he hastened back to the ship to grab his translator and stick it in his ear. It was of little use, though. He heard a few snippets of Vortian as life forms traveled up and down the streets, and maybe a word of Plookesian here and there, but everything else was unrecognizable. He also didn’t like the way everyone slowed down to look at him as they passed. 

He knew he was different, and no one had ever seen one of his kind before. Usually, he got curious questions about his home planet. Sometimes someone would touch his hair without asking, which was annoying, but not necessarily scary. Here, there was no shortage of leering and whispering. He stuck close by Zim, who walked purposefully down the street and didn’t seem to notice that everyone was staring at them. Dib was on edge, but not totally afraid, until an amorphous blue blob creature with arms but no hands reached out and grabbed Dib by the knee. 

“Hey, let go!” squeaked Dib.

The creature had on a blue shirt with a strange symbol on the chest and also it had no legs. It garbled something to Dib that he didn’t understand and tried to drag him to the ground.

“Stop, ow! Let me go!” shouted Dib, his voice shaking. The life form kept talking in that strange, slurred language, and it seemed unaffected as Dib punched it, sucking his hand in and not letting go.

“Hey!”

To Dib’s relief, the blob looked up at where Zim was standing over them, holding a plasma pistol in one hand and something that looked like a credit card in the other. Zim snarled something to the being in that same strange language, and suddenly it was sloshing away in the other direction.

Zim crouched down and grabbed at Dib’s face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” said Dib, but his voice was still shaky.

Zim helped him up and busied himself with dusting off Dib’s t-shirt and pants. Dib, still rattled, stood still to let him brush the dirt off. Eventually, after Zim had been behind him, smacking at his pants for a solid thirty seconds, Dib reached around and grabbed him by the wrist.

“Can you please stop spanking me?” he asked, now feeling frightened _and_ embarrassed.

Zim blushed.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Uh. Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine.” 

“We should keep going,” said Zim, and Dib felt himself tense up again.

“Okay,” he said. 

To his surprise, Zim took him by the hand, squeezing tightly.

They headed back down the street again, weaving through big crowds and clutching each other’s hands. Eventually, Zim stopped them outside a shop and pointed to the sign above the door. 

“What language is that?” asked Zim, and Dib looked up and squinted. He recognized it, but just barely. Then, it clicked.

“Dentrassis,” he said. After a pause, he realized that Zim was giving him a chance to translate. 

“‘Blood… monkey’s… smoothie bar’?” 

“Yes!” said Zim. “Let’s get a smoothie.” 

He dragged Dib into the shop, ignoring Dib’s questions about whether the smoothies were made of blood or monkeys. They approached the counter, still holding hands. Zim reached back into his PAK and produced that same card from before, flashing it at the employee behind the counter. The employee, who was in the middle of helping another customer, dropped the smoothie he was mixing and rushed over to Zim. They spoke in rapid Dentrassis for a moment and, before Dib knew it, there were two smoothies in front of them, one pink and the other blue. Zim handed the employee the card and he rang them out. Dib, confused, looked down at the two drinks in front of him.

“I’ll have whichever one you don’t want,” said Zim.

“Okay, thanks,” said Dib. “Uh, thanks for buying.” 

“Nonsense,” said Zim, looking up at Dib with a smirk. “We’re both being treated today.”

He took the card back from the employee and showed it to Dib. It had Fitzoo-Menga’s picture on it, but otherwise, it looked like a pretty standard irken money card. 

“Oh. Is that okay?” asked Dib.

“Certainly,” said Zim. “He won’t even notice. You can get whatever you want.” 

Dib smiled back. 

 

Eventually, they decided the best course of action would be to mix their smoothies together, which the “smoothie drone,” as Zim called him, did with only a little bit of grumbling. They left, walking hand in hand and sipping their drinks, and Dib felt the anxiety from earlier finally starting to lift.

They shopped down what was apparently Cyberflox’s main street, although every street in this mall felt more like a dark alleyway. Since the incident with the blob, Zim kept a tight hold on Dib’s hand, which Dib appreciated. They popped into a few stores, and Zim bought a few things for himself: a few different kinds of acid, which Dib assumed was meant for making more homemade weapons, as well as an assortment of pills that— well, who knows? Maybe Zim had allergies or something.

Zim was also happy to buy Dib whatever he wanted. They mostly tested out gadgets and chatted over weaponry, but they also snacked their way through the entire street, bought a couple of candles, snagged the most expensive fake plant they could find, and even poked around a sex shop, blushing and giggling and eventually buying some massage oil and a comically large dildo, which Zim ordered the clerk to send to Fitzoo-Menga’s ship. Despite his initial misgivings, Dib was actually having a really good time. 

“Hey,” said Dib, “are we getting the SF-Drive soon?” 

“Hmm?” said Zim. “Yes, in a moment. One more stop first.” 

“Where are we stopping?”

“Here!”

Zim pulled him into a store called “Death Sweaters.” Dib had never seen Zim wear anything but his uniform before. Whatever, he was fine keep an eye on their other purchases while Zim got some clothes. 

But Zim pulled him right to the front counter. He flashed Fitzoo-Menga’s card and they were suddenly whisked away to the basement of the shop. Zim chatted with the clerk as they climbed down the stairs in a language Dib didn’t recognize and, all of a sudden, he was up on a platform, standing in front of a giant triple mirror and getting his measurements taken. One of the employees took his shopping bags and plopped them down on the chair next to where Zim was sitting. 

“Uh, Zim?” asked Dib.

“Yes?” said Zim.

“What’s going on?”

“I thought we’d get you a new jacket.” 

Dib thought back to his old trench coat, which he’d thrown out after their adventure on Dirt. It hadn’t been anything fancy, but Dib had liked having it in case of emergencies. He hadn’t really thought about in a while, though. Apparently, Zim had.

One of the shop employees was showing Dib a few swatches of fabric, and he touched each tentatively. One was white and felt like cotton, almost paper thin. The other was blue and warm, like wool, and the third, a fleshy pink color, writhed and screamed under Dib’s touch like it was alive. He pulled his hand back and looked a Zim.

“Um…?”

Zim barked something at the employee, who dodged away and then returned with a swatch of familiar black fabric. Dib ran his hand over it.

“Hey, is this the stuff your pants are made out of?” he asked.

Zim, who had made his way over to the platform Dib was standing on, plucked off his glove and held the fabric between two fingers.

“Yes,” said Zim, looking up at Dib, mischief in his eyes. “The best in irken sportswear. Technically, it’s illegal for anyone other than the irken military to have it, but… eh. It’s made with the same bacteria we studied when we were developing the healing abilities of our PAKs. It’s superamphiphobic, extremely durable, and, look—”

Zim’s PAK made a buzzing noise, and then a round saw like the one Gashloog had used to cut down a tree emerged. Dib stepped back as Zim sliced through the swatch of fabric the employee was holding with some difficulty. After he finally broke through, though, Dib watched in shock as the two pieces of tattered fabric reformed into the original swatch.

“Holy shit,” said Dib.

“Mmm, yes. Do you like it?” asked Zim.

Dib stared at Zim. He grinned. 

“Yeah. I like it a lot.” 

Zim smiled back. “Excellent.” 

Dib stood for a few more minutes while the employees finished taking his measurements. He watched Zim speak with another employee, pointing emphatically at a picture he’d drawn on his tablet. Eventually, Zim handed them Fitzoo-Menga’s card, and, in only about fifteen minutes, the employee that Zim had been talking to emerged from a back room with a brand-new trench coat. A replica of his old one. 

Still on the platform, Dib slid on the coat. He looked down at Zim, a huge smile on his face.

“Well? What do you think?” asked Zim. 

“It’s… it’s great. It’s amazing. It’s perfect.” Dib looked from Zim to the mirror, then back to Zim. The employees hovered by the platform, a few feet away from Zim and Dib.

“I… really want to kiss you right now,” said Dib. 

Zim looked around at the employees. He shrugged.

“Oh, very well.” 

Giddy, Dib jumped off the platform and picked Zim up off the ground. He spun around, ignoring Zim’s squawk of surprise, and planted a sloppy kiss on Zim’s mouth. Zim wrapped his arms around Dib’s neck and kissed him back. 

 

Dib was practically floating on air by the time they finally got to the mechanic. He was relieved to find that they were buying an SF-Drive from a vortian, so he was able to talk with the vendor and with Zim until they settled on the proper make and model for Dib’s ship. Zim flashed Fitzoo-Menga’s card, and the mechanic agreed to drive Zim, Dib, and Dib’s newest toy back to the garage where _The Mothman_ was parked. Together, the three of them installed the drive. Zim tipped the vortian and told him to get out, which he did. 

Dib looked down at his dashboard, the new SF-Drive engager bright and new next to the yoke. He felt a thrill of excitement. Then, dread.

“Hey, Zim?” he called.

“What?” responded Zim from where he was in the bathroom, trying to find a place to put their new, obnoxiously large fake plant. 

“How long will it take us to get to Irk from here?” 

“What?”

“How long—?”

“What?” 

“How—?”

“I can’t hear you!” 

Dib rolled his eyes and made his way into the bathroom, where Zim was putting the plant in the shower.

“Does this work?” he asked.

“Not if we need to bathe,” said Dib. 

“Hmm.” 

“Hey,” said Dib. “How long of a trip is it to Irk from here?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Zim. “Two days?” 

“Two— wow. That’s not a lot of time.” 

“I know!” said Zim, pleased. “We’ll be there so _soon_!” 

Dib couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that this was it. They’d gotten to Cyberflox with three days left, and the sun was already setting on the first one. He pursed his lips.

“I guess we should get going, then,” he mumbled. 

“What?” asked Zim. “Why?”

“Aren’t you in a rush to get back? And get recoded?” asked Dib.

“We can worry about that tomorrow,” said Zim. “That smoothie drone at the blood monkey place recommended an upscale bar for eating and drinking. Apparently, it has pretty good Vort Dogs. Do you want to go?” 

“Oh, um. Okay. Yeah, I’ll go to a bar,” said Dib, feeling a surge of excitement. “Sounds fun.”

“Great!” said Zim. “Is that what you’re going to wear?” 

“I— what?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: "Love, which permits no loved one not to love, took me so strongly with delight in him…"


	9. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, my, my, my! I die every night with you." - Troye Sivan

**i.**

All of the tables were occupied, so they sat at the bar. They wouldn’t have even been allowed in at all if not for Fitzoo-Menga’s magic money card and Zim’s assertive attitude; the line to get into the place when they got there was two and a half blocks long. For once, Dib was thankful for Zim’s cocksureness. 

The bartender tossed them a couple of drink menus and Dib looked his over, fidgeting a little with the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. He had been planning on just going out in the t-shirt he’d been wearing all day, but Zim had insisted this establishment was too upscale for such casual attire (Dib could hardly argue — his shirt _did_ have a picture of a vampire donut on it). So, he’d pretended to be annoyed as Zim tossed his clothes all over his room and eventually settled on the old button-up that Zim probably recognized from his graduation picture. Because, really, what did Zim know about earth fashion? Dib was from there and _he_ barely knew anything.

Dib looked over the drinks list, heavy in his hands, considering what kind of drink he might like and how to shut Zim up for one second to ask for a read-though of the menu, which was written in Dentrassis and almost impossible to translate. Some of the brands of the liquors were recognizable, but Dib didn’t know enough about space alcohol to know what was what anyway. Zim had barely glanced at the menu before going off about how this was supposedly the best bar in town, and it was obvious because it had this kind of top-shelf booze and that kind of light fixture. Looking around, Dib wasn’t sure about any of that, but he had to agree: this was significantly nicer than any place he’d been to in a long time.

The whole place was dark and cozy, with intimate booths in the corners and a relaxed, slow-moving clientele. The walls, ceiling, and floors were all a deep navy blue, but the bar itself was anything but colorless. Each table had a round, neon centerpiece that floated and slowly spun a few inches above its surface, and, as Dib looked closer, he noticed that each glowing orb was actually a small replica of a planet. He recognized Vort and a few others, and Cyberflox itself was floating over the long table in the center of the room, its two moons dancing lethargically around it. The “superior light fixtures” that hung from the ceiling were actually tiny gaseous globes: hundreds of little stars, cased in high-tech glass, that made the whole room warm. The bar itself, where Zim and Dib sat, was a half circle against the wall near the entrance, and the shelving in the center, where all the booze was kept, was a floor-to-ceiling half cylinder made of hundreds of tiny mirrors. And, even in the dimmed light, Dib could tell that it was much cleaner than any of the other stores he’d been in today. It was even cleaner than Shloogorgh’s, although, Dib guessed that might be because Sizz-Lorr’s former table cleaner hadn’t been that great at his job. 

The bartender was back before Dib got a chance to finish looking around, and he glanced self-consciously down at the menu. Zim and the bartender, a tall being with pale orange skin and six arms, stared at him expectantly. Dib cleared his throat.

“Uh… did you order?” he asked, peeking over at Zim.

“Yes,” said Zim. 

Dib looked back at the menu with a prolonged “um.” After a second, Zim leaned over and tapped the menu four times. To Dib’s embarrassment, the words on the menu changed from Dentrassis to Irken. He read through quickly, still getting stuck on the names of various liquors and ingredients. Zim cleared his throat, and Dib felt his ears get hot. He looked up, where Zim and the bartender were both still looking at him.

Zim just shook his head and hopped with his stool so he was a little closer to Dib and started walking him through the menu. Dib tried not to be too embarrassed, and he appreciated Zim for not giving him a hard time about his apparent ignorance. Once they ran through the list of cocktails and then settled on what Dib actually liked to drink, Zim decided to order something off-menu, much to the annoyance of the poor bartender. Zim didn’t seem to mind, and he flashed Fitzoo-Menga’s card and the bartender shot them a cool smile, his teeth so bright they were practically fluorescent.

Zim was explaining different kinds of liquor to Dib when their drinks arrived, and Dib took a sip of his and was surprised to find that it was delicious — a little acidic, but also sweet. It was refreshing with just enough of a bite to it. 

“Wow… what is this?” he asked Zim, who, by the way, hadn’t touched his drink and was smiling so big his face looked like it was going to split in half.

“You like?”

“Yeah. Wow. It’s really good,” said Dib.

“I knew you’d like it,” said Zim, his little bump of a nose sticking straight up in the air. “I made it up myself.” 

“Did you?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“Just now?”

“Yup.”

“What are you going to name it?” asked Dib. He took another sip, enjoying the way the warmth started in his mouth and flowed all the way to his toes. 

“I shall call it… the Dib,” said Zim, tilting his head toward Dib like he did when he knew he was being charming.

Dib just rolled his eyes, but he could feel himself smiling. He took another sip, noticing that he was already feeling a little… silly.

“An appropriate name,” said Dib, “since it’s almost as tasty as I am.” 

He’d meant it to be a stupid joke, but Zim leaned forward put a hand on Dib’s knee, swiveling his stool so they were facing each other. Zim tossed his drink back in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then scooted even closer to Dib, so their noses were almost touching.

“You _are_ tasty,” said Zim, and Dib felt his ears get hot again. “That’s why I named it after you.” 

Zim leaned forward and Dib closed his eyes, his insides buzzing. He could smell Zim’s sweet breath on his face. They both jumped when they heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. They turned to where the bartender was standing, unamused.

“Will that be all?” he asked. 

Dib looked over at Zim, embarrassed, but Zim looked unfazed. 

“Hmmm. No, actually. We’ll take an order of the dogs. And a bottle of your finest bubbles,” said Zim.

“Coming right up,” said the bartender with one last look at Dib, who realized his mouth was kind of hanging open. He swallowed nervously and looked over at Zim, who hadn’t taken his hand off Dib’s knee. 

“Bubbles, huh?” said Dib. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Of course we are,” said Zim, squinting an eye. “We’re celebrating the acquisition of your SF-Drive.” 

“Oh, yeah,” said Dib. “Right.” 

He looked away and took a big gulp of his drink, then turned back to look at Zim, but he lost his nerve and turned away. He hiccuped.

“What?” asked Zim. 

Dib shrugged. Now’s not the time to talk about it. Not when he was buzzed and they were having a nice time and this could possibly be the last nice time they have together before Zim leaves and—

“Dib? What is it?” 

Dib looked up from the floor. He exhaled. 

“Nothing,” said Dib. “You just look really good tonight.” 

He’d said it because he knew Zim would be a pompous dick about being complimented — he had the annoying habit of one-upping Dib’s comments, and would likely retort with something along the lines of: “Good? Zim looks _amazing_!” 

He’d also said it because it was true. Zim did look nice. The lights from the ceiling reflected off the mirrored shelves and onto Zim’s face, making his eyes look bright and his skin look warm and inviting. Zim squeezed his knee and ducked forward, abruptly planting a soft kiss on Dib’s mouth before leaning back with a sniff. Dib stared. He hadn’t expected that. Zim tugged at the collar of his tunic.

“You look good, too.” 

Dib smiled. 

“Thanks.”

Zim smiled back, looking a little flushed, and then yelped when the bartender popped the bottled of bubbly they’d ordered right next to their faces. 

“Dogs and bubbles. Enjoy,” he said, looking between Zim and Dib with the attitude of someone who dealt with drunk morons groping each other all the time. Dib realized that he probably was.

Dib looked down. The Vort Dogs looked a little fancier than the ones he’d enjoyed on Foodcourtia. These ones were grilled, not fried, and they were tastefully arranged on a dinner plate with some kind of sauce in a little bowl next to them. A far cry from the paper bag they came in on Shloogorgh’s. Excited, he dipped one in the sauce and took a bite. 

It was amazing — the sauce was spicy, but the dogs themselves were tender and flavorful. Dib finished his first one quickly and grabbed for another. He pushed the plate toward Zim.

“You should have one, before I eat them all,” he said as he dipped his second dog. “They’re so good.”

When Zim didn’t respond, he looked up and saw that the little irken was staring at Dib, a little frown tugging at the corners of his mouth and his eyes wide and sorrowful.

“I mean — they’re not that good. Second best for me, for sure. No competition, because, you know… obviously yours were way better.” 

He didn’t even know why Zim would care. He had hated being a frycook. Yet, Dib felt himself scrambling for excuses, ready to say anything to wipe that pitiful look off Zim’s face. 

“You don’t mean that,” said Zim, and he busied himself with filling their two champagne flutes with a fizzy red drink. 

“Yes, I do,” said Dib, and he pushed the plate toward Zim again. “See for yourself.”

He knew that with anyone else, this plan might have backfired. But, if he knew Zim—

“You’re right! These are so… subpar!” exclaimed Zim after shoving an entire Vort Dog into his mouth. From a few feet away, the bartender looked up and scowled. Meanwhile, Zim was still talking about how much better _his_ Vort Dogs were.

“And, you know, I was always tweaking the recipe to make them even _better_ …”

Dib highly doubted that, and he was pretty sure those things came frozen from a packaging planet on the other side of the Omega Sector. He didn’t care. He nodded along, smiling back at Zim as he continued talking and stuffing his face with the subpar snacks. They finished with their food in a minute, and Zim motioned to the waiter to bring another plate. Dib grabbed his flute and held it toward Zim.

“Cheers,” he said.

Zim clinked glasses with him, a little too hard, so some of the drink spilled over and dribbled down Dib’s hand. He took a sip of a sparkling wine that was sweeter than anything he’d had before. It made him feel extra warm and relaxed. He had another sip and was pleased to feel the warmth spreading from his belly to his fingers, his toes, and all over his skin. He looked over at Zim, who was refilling his glass with his eyes half closed. 

“This stuff’s good,” said Dib, and Zim nodded.

“Vortian,” he said. “They have the best bubbles.” 

“Oh, yeah?” asked Dib, watching as Zim poured him another drink. 

“Mmm. And the comfiest couches.” 

Zim hiccuped. Dib giggled. 

 

They ate and drank and made stupid jokes and talked about how much fun they’d had that day. Zim stayed where he’d scooted himself, so they were constantly bumping knees and elbows. Dib didn’t care. He liked being close.

Halfway through their third plate of Vort Dogs and second bottle of bubbly, Dib poked a hole in a paper napkin and held it over his mouth.

“Hey, who am I?” he asked. “ _Hey, maaaaan. Train your pets better_.” 

Zim watched him, amused. He pointed at Dib’s napkin.

“What’s that supposed to be?” he asked. 

“His goatee.”

“Ah. Of course,” Zim snatched the napkin from Dib and held it in front of his own mouth, then hunched over. “ _I would prefer you call me Fitzoo-Menga. Even though everyone in this galaxy knows I’m Virooz_ ,” he said, pitching his voice so he sounded like a pubescent teenage boy. 

Dib cracked up, slamming his fist on the table and not noticing that the bar had gone quiet with the mention of Fitzoo-Menga’s shady alter ego. When he looked up, though, Zim was frozen, and everyone in the room was staring at them. Zim stared at him, his antennae twitching.

“Um,” said Dib. “He said Schmirooz.”

There was a collective “ _oh!_ ” and the bar went back to normal. Dib and Zim looked at each other and started laughing all over again. 

Eventually, Zim cleared his throat. He picked at the hem of his tunic.

“It was kind of him for giving us his money card, though.” 

Dib considered this.

“Yeah, I guess so. And he let us park in his private garage.” 

“Mmm, he did, didn’t he,” said Zim, and they sat there for a second, thoughtful.

Dib filled their flutes with bubbly and offered Zim his. He raised his glass.

“To Fitzoo-Menga,” he said with a smirk. 

Zim laughed once, then raised his own.

“To Schmirooz,” he said, and they clinked. 

Dib considered sipping his drink, but he decided against it when he saw the challenging look in Zim’s eyes. They chugged down their bubbly, slamming their glasses back on the bar top at the exact same time.

“I won,” they said in unison. 

After a quick back and forth about rules and epiglottises, Dib decided to end the argument by gracelessly climbing into Zim’s lap and sitting down sideways. Zim’s hand shot out to grab the bar top, his other arm grabbing Dib’s waist in an attempt to steady them as Dib flung his arms around Zim’s neck and kissed him hard.

“Mmph,” said Zim, and Dib felt him shift, rebalancing them on the stool. 

His hand on Dib’s waist traveled down into the back pocket of Dib’s recently-rediscovered navy blue chinos. Dib opened his eyes at the feeling of Zim groping his ass, and he pulled back. He had to grin at the lusty look in Zim’s eyes, his askew antennae, his flushed face. They didn’t look away from each other when the bartender approached; Zim just slapped Fitzoo-Menga’s card on the bar top with a PAK arm and slid it toward him. The bartender rang them out and brought over the receipt, which Zim signed, his eyes still on Dib’s face. When the transaction was complete, Zim shifted, pulling Dib closer.

“Are you tired?” asked Zim.

“No,” said Dib. 

They’d been out for maybe an hour and a half, and he was feeling drunk but not groggy. The last thing he wanted to do was go to sleep. Plus, he was pretty sure he and Zim were going to have sex at some point tonight, and he sure wasn’t tired enough to blow that opportunity.

“Do you want to dance?” 

Dib shrugged. This place didn’t have a dance floor, so he figured they’d have to go somewhere else. He didn’t really want to leave such an awesome bar, but, if Zim wanted to dance…

“Sure,” he said, and Zim smiled.

“Good. Now get off me. You’re heavier than a… than a…”

Dib watched Zim as he tried to think of an analogy. When it was clear Zim couldn’t think of anything, Dib grinned.

“You’re drunk,” he said. 

Zim scowled.

“Am not!”

“You definitely are—”

“I am in no _way_ —”

“—drunk off your ass.” 

“—drunk off my… hmph,” Zim pouted. Dib laughed so hard he snorted. 

He tried to delicately climb off Zim’s lap, but he caught his foot and would have fallen flat on his back if Zim hadn’t grabbed his hand in time.

“ _You’re_ drunk,” said Zim, triumphant. Dib just snickered.

“I sure am.” 

Zim tilted his chin up and raised an eyebrow ridge, then the other. Lowered the first, then the second. It was his way of rolling his eyes, an imperfect translation of a mannerism he’d learned from Dib. Dib loved it. 

“Come on, you… you… you drunk person,” said Zim, and he dragged Dib to the back of the bar. 

They walked between tables, stumbling around other patrons and admiring the decorations. Zim pointed to one table, nestled in a corner, near the back. The planet floating above it was pink, with one small moon. 

“That’s Irk,” Zim said, and, before Dib got a chance to ask any questions, Zim was tugging him back through the tables. 

Zim pulled him all the way into the far corner. Dib started asking what was happening as Zim placed his palm over a blinking light. Suddenly, they were surrounded by walls, and Dib realized they were moving down in some kind of elevator. He stuck close to Zim and looked around, his questions dying in his throat. 

In under a minute, the elevator stopped, and the walls around them were rising back up toward the ceiling. Dib looked around. 

They were in a hallway, lit just like the bar upstairs but a little brighter. Looking down, Dib realized it was because the floor was a screen, with blinking squares of light kind of like a disco dance floor. Zim still held on to his hand as he marched down the hallway, past doors — to bathrooms, maybe? — and other patrons who were sweaty and panting. Dib squeezed Zim’s hand, excited but nervous, and Zim squeezed back.

When they got to the end of the hallway, a life form stood there that he didn’t recognize. Taller than Zim but shorter than Dib, they had on a long black cloak. Their skin was a light teal, their eyes a bright and pretty cyan. Dib thought the being looked vaguely fish-like, with smooth skin and a thin face. They said something to Zim, their voice high and sing-songy, and Zim responded. The being looked at Dib with a smile.

“Hi! What’s your name?” they asked in cheery Irken. 

“Uh… Dib. What’s your name?” asked Dib.

“My name is Teresh. Where are you from?”

“Earth,” said Dib. “Um, Zeta Sector. Fourth Quadrant.” 

“Wow! How fun!” said Teresh. 

“Where are you from?” asked Dib.

“Duh!” said Teresh. “I’m from Earth, too!”

“You… what?” asked Dib, his brain working in slow motion as he tried to process this information.

“Only kidding! I’m from Shora,” said Teresh.

“Oh… cool,” said Dib. Why did everyone make that joke? Just to confuse him, probably, since there were no other Zeta Sector inhabitants hanging around this side of Tadpole Galaxy. He felt a tug on his hand and looked down to see Zim, tapping his foot. 

“Just tell her what you want,” said Zim, his eyes narrowed.

“What I…?” Dib looked at Teresh, who was opening her cloak to reveal a big belt of different vials of colored liquid. Dib hesitated.

“What do they do?” asked Dib.

Teresh shrugged. “They look pretty. Pick one.”

“Um…” 

Dib noticed one that was a nice shade of blue, not different from the blue jays he used to see flying around when he was on Earth, outside the city. He considered the purple, deep and enticing, but he pointed at the blue. Zim chose the pink one, of course, a light magenta that matched his uniform. 

Teresh looked between them and nodded, then told them both to close their eyes and stand still. Dib heard the sound of her removing the corks from the vials, then he felt her painting his face. Well… he felt paint on his face. He couldn’t feel her hands on his nose, his forehead, around his lips, but he felt a tickle that told him there was something wet being put there… somehow. He wanted to ask what was happening, but Teresh had told him not to move.

“Okay,” she said after a couple of minutes. “One more thing.”

A breeze blew at Dib, too big for it to just be Teresh blowing into his face, but it was by no means a gust. It was warm and felt nice, and it dried the paint on his skin until he couldn’t even feel it.

“Okay!” Teresh said. “Open your eyes!” 

Dib opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Teresh’s pleased grin. He looked over at Zim, who was already looking at him. 

Zim’s face was not painted pink. It was blue, and it glowed metallic in the light of the hallway. 

Teresh had painted lines above Zim’s eyes, like he had two eyebrows over each eye. There were dots all along his jawline. A small stripe down the middle of his lower lip made it look fuller than it normally did. He had more dots below his eyes, and when Dib leaned closer, he realized that those ones were actually tiny stars that dotted Zim’s cheeks like he’d cried them out. He looked beautiful. 

“Wow,” said Dib. 

“You’re pink,” said Zim. 

“You’re blue.”

“It looks nice.”

“Yours does, too.” 

“Thanks,” said Zim, and they looked at each other for a while until Teresh cleared her throat. 

“Are you ready?” she asked. 

Zim looked to her and nodded, and Dib nodded, too. 

“It’s going to be loud,” said Teresh. 

“We’re ready,” said Zim. “Get on with it.”

Teresh just smiled. She put her palm on the wall next to them and it slid open. And fuck if it didn’t feel like “loud” was the understatement of the millennium. Zim took his hand and led him inside, and Teresh gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

Dib could feel the music rattling every bone in his body. Really, he felt it more than he heard it — it wasn’t overly loud in his ears, but, it was more like he was experiencing the music with his whole body. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was a little overstimulating. Dib gripped Zim’s hand as the bass beat like a pulse against every inch of his skin, the warmth from the alcohol still there, reacting and making the sensations all the more intense. Zim led him through the dance floor, which was packed tightly with dancers, all of them shining with sweat and metallic paint.

The walls, floors, and ceiling were all like the floor of the hallway: giant screens that blinked and winked different kinds of light. It was also a little overwhelming, but, admittedly, it was pretty freaking cool. The lights around them danced to the beat of the music, changing colors and shapes every so often. Sometimes, it looked like people dancing, other times the shapes were more amorphous. Dib watched, fascinated. He felt a hand on his hip and looked down to see that Zim had stepped very close to him and was saying something.

“What?” he shouted.

Zim repeated himself, still not loudly enough for Dib to hear. 

“ _What?_ ” 

Zim did his little eyeroll thing, then stretched onto his tiptoes and cupped his hand around Dib’s ear.

“We did not come here to stand around staring.” 

Dib blushed. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. This… might not go well.

“Right,” he said with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Zim, his face still right next to Dib’s, an antenna down by his mouth. 

“I don’t really… do this,” said Dib, his face heating even more.

“What do you mean? Your kind have the dancing and the parties, I thought?” asked Zim.

“Yeah, but, I mean. I personally am not a good dancer,” said Dib. 

Zim pulled back for a second, then leaned forward and nipped Dib’s ear.

“Not to worry, my Dib. I’m a good enough dancer for the both of us.”

With that, Zim turned sharply on his heel and dragged a still-blushing Dib deeper into the crowd.

When he found a satisfactory spot, Zim turned and put Dib’s hands on his shoulders. He rested his own hands on Dib’s hips and made them sway a little bit before digging his nails into Dib’s side and telling him to relax. 

Dib wanted to relax. He was getting more used to the lights and the sounds, and he didn’t even mind the crowd that much. What was bothering him was the music itself: the song playing was heavy on the bass; it was also a little synthy and had something that sounded kind of like a piano, but more electronic sounding. The problem was that the beat was unfamiliar, its pattern difficult to understand. Dib had never been much of a musician, and, now that he was good and drunk, he could barely tease out the rhythm of this strange, truly alien sound. He swallowed nervously and looked down at Zim, who was watching him.

Zim took a step forward, so their bodies were flush against each other, and gave Dib a soft kiss on the mouth. Dib responded to the kiss eagerly, removing a hand from Zim’s shoulder to cradle the back of his head. Zim took a step closer, then a step back, then closer again, gently taking Dib’s hips with him. Dib followed, the feeling of Zim’s mouth on his grounding him, the gentle coaxing hands on his hips reminding him of their first night together and sending a zing of pleasure down his middle. 

Eventually, they figured it out. With Zim’s help, Dib was able to figure out how to move his body so that they were in sync, dancing together, impossibly close. Dib’s hands drifted from Zim’s neck and shoulder to his back, pulling him closer. 

They broke their kiss, both panting a little. They smiled nervously at each other as Zim led them in a little loop around the dance floor, guiding him around the other moving bodies and dancing couples. The songs changed, and they adapted, staying together. 

Dib didn’t know how long they’d been dancing for, but his and Zim's faces were both shiny with sweat, and he could even see the paint running down Zim's cheek a little. Plus, his body was getting tired. Despite this, the last thing he wanted to do was stop. 

At one point, he looked away from the dancing lights on the ceiling to notice that Zim was saying something to him.

“What?” he asked. 

Zim leaned forward until he was at Dib’s ear again.

“Where will you go after you drop me off at Irk?” 

Dib paused a second, sending them off their rhythm. Zim picked it back up easily.

“I don’t know,” said Dib. 

With his new SF-Drive, he could go almost anywhere. But where did he even want to go?

“I might just keep exploring. I’ve been thinking of visiting Arcadikon and just seeing what that’s about,” he said.

“Arcadikon?” said Zim. “It’s not that great.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Dib. 

He didn’t have much more to add, mostly because he didn’t want to be having this conversation now. He looked down to see Zim was talking again, but he still couldn't hear him. He furrowed his brow.

“I can’t— _what_?” 

Zim nuzzled against Dib’s chest, not breaking their rhythm. Dib could just barely see that Zim’s mouth was moving, but Dib had no idea what he was saying. He squeezed Zim’s shoulder and Zim looked up at him. Dib leaned down a bit, one of his hands now cupped around his ear. Zim hesitated for a second, then stood on his toes again, his mouth right by Dib’s ear. They stood like that for a moment before Zim finally spoke.

“Stay with me.” 

Dib froze, a million thoughts racing through his head at once.

“Wh-what?” 

“Stay on Irk with me. If… if you want to.” 

Dib locked eyes with Zim, the irken’s gaze bright and wide. He felt like his whole chest was going to collapse into itself.

“What… what would I do? What would _we_ do?”

“I don’t know,” said Zim, looking a little regretful. “We could just go and I’ll get recoded and… we'll see from there. I don’t… I’m not sure…” 

Zim paused for a second, taking a breath and collecting himself. 

“I don't want you to go away,” he said, and Dib felt a wave of emotion hit him. He pulled back so he could get a better look at Zim’s face, then kissed him hard.

“Okay,” he said, his mouth still moving against Zim’s. “Yes. Yes, of course.” 

Zim fell into him, their lips crashing together again and Dib felt a huge weight lift off his chest. He felt like he was floating, anchored to nothing but Zim’s face, Zim’s hands, Zim’s waist, Zim’s hips, Zim, Zim, Zim.

 

The next thing he knew, it was quiet, and they weren’t on the dance floor anymore and Zim was slamming a door shut and clicking the lock into place. 

Dib clapped a hand on Zim’s ass and smashed their bodies together, grunting and slamming Zim against the wall of the bathroom. Zim curled himself around Dib, digging his hands through Dib’s hair, tugging roughly, and hooking a leg around one of Dib’s. Dib held Zim’s face and thigh, frotting blindly, groaning at the friction. They kissed for a while until Dib, drunk and feeling out of control of himself, dropped to his knees and pinned Zim's hips against the wall, then let his hands trail down the backs of Zim’s thighs, savoring the feeling of hard muscles and the way they curved around Irken bones. He leaned forward and planted a kiss against the fabric of Zim’s tunic, Zim’s hands still tangled in his hair.

“You… you want to…?” started Zim, his own face flushed, his hands already a little shaky.

He knew what Dib wanted to do. They’d talked about it, once, and Dib had left the offer open for whenever Zim wanted it, too. 

“If you want me to,” said Dib.

“I… why?” asked Zim. 

Dib groaned, the thought of it sending a bolt of arousal straight to his dick. He hunched down a little and mouthed Zim’s crotch from outside his leggings. He looked up at Zim, who hadn’t reacted, just watched. 

“Because,” said Dib, already breathless, already so worked up that it almost felt like they were still in the other room, their senses overloading from the lights and the music, “I want to make you feel good.” 

“Like this, though? Doing _this_?” asked Zim, looking down at Dib with genuine confusion on his face.

“Yeah.”

“… But _why_?” 

Slowly, with his eyes on Zim’s face the whole time, Dib inched the fabric of Zim’s tunic and undershirt up and kissed an exposed area of green skin. He heard Zim suck in a breath.

“Because… I like doing things to you that feel good. And I want to do something that’s just for _you._ Because I care about you and I—” (I love you) “—I, um, I like your body, a lot, and I want us to be connected, like this, like… intimacy.” 

He looked up at Zim, blushing a little at his embarrassing attempt to explain why he wanted this. Not surprisingly, this was never something he’d had to justify wanting to do before. He understood why Zim was confused, though, and it made him mad, for the hundredth time, to think why closeness like this was still so foreign and new to Zim. 

Zim just stared down at him. Then, slowly, he hooked a thumb into the waistband of his leggings and pulled them down, just a little, so Dib was looking at the naked curve of Zim’s hip. He leaned in, as slowly as Zim had moved, and kissed the area that Zim had offered. He kept going, following Zim’s hand and putting his mouth on every inch of skin that Zim exposed. Eventually, Zim took his other hand out of Dib’s hair and brought it to his other hip, pulling his pants down until Dib could just barely see where the skin changed, became darker, softer, less tight, to accommodate for when it pulled back and Zim’s member left its sheath. Dib had put his hands on that part of Zim’s body countless times, rubbing and teasing and sometimes grabbing. Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed his way down from the exposed lower part of Zim’s navel to where his waistband now sat, partway down his thighs. 

Zim didn't get goosebumps, as far as Dib knew, irkens didn’t, but he shivered a little, his muscles spasming at the feeling of Dib’s sloppy kisses on his sensitive skin. Still, he pulled his pants down until they were at mid-thigh, allowing Dib full access to what was already half unsheathed, wet and smelling undeniably like Zim.

Dib put his hands on Zim’s hips, kneading gently. He ducked down again, then paused. 

“I’m going to touch you,” he said, trying to sound confident.

“Okay.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”  


“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to do this for me. It’s supposed to be for you.”

“I know.” 

“You can tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“You’re sure?”  


“I’m sure.” 

“One hundred percent?”  


“Yes.”

“… One hundred and ten percent?”

Zim scowled.

“No, because that does not exist. I said I want it. So, do it. Er. Please.” 

Dib laughed a little, and he was relieved to feel Zim’s hand in his hair again. He leaned forward, trying to decide how best to begin. 

“Dib, wait.”

Dib looked up.

“Can you… just wash your hands first?” 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

Dib stood up and found the sink, which was stationed next to what he assumed was a toilet. He scrubbed his hands in hot water, once, twice, then, for good measure, a third time. He considered drying them with one of the hand towels hanging next to him, but he didn’t know how clean those actually were, so he just shook his hands out a little.

When he turned around, Zim had slipped entirely out of his pants, boots, and gloves, and was standing against the wall in just his tunic, undershirt, and… hey!

“Are those my socks?” asked Dib. 

“What? No. They’re mine.” 

“What’s the animal on them?” asked Dib, settling back down on his knees and resting his hands on Zim’s hips.

“Uh… dogs.” 

“Nope, flamingos,” said Dib. He trailed his hand along the back of Zim’s thigh, behind his knee, down to his calf, feeling the heel of the sock poking out a few inches above Zim’s ankle. “You were close, though.” 

Zim started to argue, giving bullshit reasons for why these were his socks. Dib honestly didn’t care, so he traced a finger down the soft, slightly wrinkled skin that protected Zim’s sheath. Zim gasped, coming even more unsheathed and Dib lightly took hold of Zim’s dick and pumped him a couple of times to get him hard. Zim’s hands gripped bunches of his hair. His breathing was uneven, and he bucked his hips a little into Dib’s hand. Dib worked him for a little while longer, building up his own confidence, then stopped. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said.

“D-down there?” 

“Yes. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

Okay. Dib leaned forward and kissed Zim on his hip, where his mouth had already been, then, slowly, made his way inward. He paused between every kiss, feeling for any change in Zim’s body language, but there was none. Zim’s hands were still in his hair, not moving, but his breath hitched every time Dib kissed him. Eventually, Dib reached that soft line of skin, even more wrinkled now that Zim was totally unsheathed and hard. He licked up it, and, above him, Zim tried to stifle a gasp.

Dib stood up a little, just enough so that he could plant a kiss on Zim’s cheek. Zim kissed him back, on his mouth, and Dib groaned. 

“Don’t stop,” murmured Zim, and Dib settled himself back down on his knees and hunched forward again. 

Dib licked up the same trail he had just left, then, lightly, licked another path up Zim’s cock. A jumble of words fell from Zim’s mouth, and Dib grinned and hunched down, this time taking Zim’s entire dick in his mouth.

Zim tasted a little tangy, but he was by no means unpleasant. As he sucked Zim off, Dib wondered if he should worry about his stomach, but he figured that if he could handle swallowing Irken saliva, he could probably handle this. He had no intention of stopping, anyway, because Zim had already advised him at least a dozen times not to. Dib liked that — maybe it was the alcohol or the blow job, but Zim was way more vocal than he normally was in bed. Dib encouraged it; every time Zim blurted something out about how it felt, Dib gripped his thighs and groaned in agreement. 

Eventually, though, Dib realized he would have to change the way he was sitting. Because of their height difference, Dib’s current position was pretty uncomfortable, and his neck was starting to really hurt. He vaguely remembered something he’d seen once in a movie that looked pretty cool and sexy, so he pulled back for a second and instructed Zim to hold on. 

Dib straightened up a little and encouraged Zim to hook his legs over his shoulders, and then Dib used his hands to steady the both of them as he slowly stood up. Zim leaned most of his weight on the wall behind him, so Dib just had to worry about keeping his own balance. Finally, they were up, Dib on his feet and Zim sitting on his shoulders, facing him. After a cursory moment to ensure that Zim was okay and comfortable, and that Dib had the strength to hold Zim up, Dib ducked forward to plant another sloppy kiss on the inside of Zim’s thigh.

“Dib— wait.” 

Dib looked up at Zim, who had a strange look on his face.

“What’s up?” 

“Are you— how high up do you think this is?”

Dib considered the question, not totally sure why Zim was asking. His brain was a little fuzzy, but he was pretty sure he could do the math out. Irken days were close enough to Earth days, but their moon cycles were a little off and their years were totally different. Still, Dib had pretty much memorized the conversions. Distance was a different issue altogether, especially because the measurements that Irk used changed sometimes. Recently, Tallest Purple had implemented a new system that Dib was still getting used to.

“Um… well, based on how tall I am, and you’re about a foot and a half above my head when we’re, ah, like this… so…”

He counted up how many inches, did the conversion, man, math is hard when you’re drunk and there’s a dick in your face—

“I don’t know, you’re probably about seventy-five donuts tall sitting on my shoulders like this.” 

“Seventy-five?” asked Zim, and Dib felt a quick tug on his hair.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” said Zim, looked down at Dib. “That’s tall.” 

“Taller than the Tallest,” said Dib with a grin. 

Then, he leaned forward and took Zim in his mouth again.

That seemed to awaken something in Zim — he felt Zim’s dick twitch in his mouth, and a drop of precum fell onto his tongue. Above him, Zim all but came apart, gripping Dib’s head and moaning. Dib was feeling pretty proud of himself when he felt Zim’s palm on his forehead, pushing him away. Before he could say anything, Zim spoke.

“Zim will have you now.” 

“Wh— okay, um…”

The logistics of that might be hard to figure out. Zim had started carrying lube and condoms in his PAK, in the event that they wanted to hook up but didn’t have time to go all the way back to the bedroom from the cockpit. They’d discovered pretty quickly that Dib’s legs were too long for them to comfortably have sex against the wall, so that wasn’t an option. And there was no way he was lying bare-assed on the floor of this bathroom, no matter how clean it appeared, and he had a feeling Zim felt the same way. 

“How should we—?”

He was interrupted by Zim taking one of his hands and guiding it from his back, where Dib had been holding him, to between his legs, behind his dick and to an area that was wet and warm, and Dib felt a jolt of realization. 

“I want to try it like this,” said Zim.

“Oh… okay.”

Lightly, he pressed into the opening that Zim had led him to, pushing in one finger experimentally and inhaling sharply at the tightness he found there. He pumped his finger in and out a few times, listening for Zim’s pleased whimpers and moans.

“You… self-lubricate?” asked Dib, his whole body feeling like it was on fire. 

“Y-yes,” Zim managed. “My body is f-far, ah, superior… to yours.” 

Dib just hummed and, after a while, slipped in a second finger, then leaned forward to lick his way up Zim’s cock again. Zim shouted, digging his nails into Dib’s shirt. Dib worked him for a few more minutes, pumping in and out and sloppily sucking his dick. Eventually, Zim pushed at Dib’s forehead again and groaned.

“I said _now_.” 

Dib laughed a little, and they worked together to scoot Zim down so their bodies were aligned, and Dib yanked down his pants and let Zim roll the condom onto his own painfully erect cock. Dib rubbed against Zim’s opening, gauging for any signs that Zim had changed his mind. He didn’t see any. 

“You sure?” he asked, just to be certain.

“Yes,” said Zim, trailing his hand down from Dib’s shoulder to his chest and tweaking his nipple from outside his shirt. Dib’s breath caught in his throat, and he nodded. Slowly, with as much control as he could muster, he slid inside.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“A little. Keep going.” 

He started slow, asking Zim what he wanted and complying as best as he could. Eventually, they picked up a rhythm, and Dib dug his fingernails into Zim's hips. He was sweaty from the effort of holding Zim up for so long, but he didn’t care, he didn’t mind how slick their bodies were as Dib pushed and pulled, over and over, babbling the whole time. As usual, he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying, listening only for when Zim would occasionally interrupt his rambling with a request: Go slow. No, go faster. Touch me. Just like that. Kiss me again. 

For a second, they were nothing but stuttering hips and heady sensations, two bodies close but desperate to get closer. Dib held out for a long as he could. The sound of Zim shouting his name, the first time he'd done that while climaxing, Dib realized, combined with the feeling of Zim’s nails raking down his chest and the hot liquid that shot between them sent him over the edge just a few minutes after they’d started. 

With his orgasm came a feeling of total calm. His legs also felt like jelly now, and he slumped against Zim, whose PAK legs were now the only thing keeping the both of them from collapsing on the floor. They breathed heavily, and Zim shifted a little so he was a little closer to Dib’s face. He rubbed his cheek against Dib’s and sighed, and Dib wanted to live in this moment forever.

“I love you,” Dib said. 

Zim pulled back a little, and Dib realized he’d just completely ruined everything. Now, Zim was going to freak out and want to go back to Irk alone. Everything they’d built over the past few months had just been destroyed. He froze, and they stared at each other, neither saying anything for what felt like centuries. Dib wanted to backtrack, but he knew he couldn’t. Shit, that had been so _stupid_ —

“I love you, too,” said Zim, and suddenly all the pieces of the universe fell right back into place.

 

**ii.**

They redressed and stumbled back to _The Mothman_ , ignoring the bartender and other patrons who were staring at them, some with amusement, others with disgust. Dib didn’t care. When they got to his ship, he yanked off his nice clothes and shoes and passed out on his bed, Zim snuggled up next to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to actor Verne Troyer, a donut (laying down, like how you see it in the box) is about 1.2" tall. In this story, Dib is an even 6' (or 72"). 
> 
> With Zim (who is about 4' 9" or so) on his shoulders, and roughly taking into account how long Zim's upper half is and how much of Zim's torso overlaps with Dib's big head in this position, Zim would be at about 7' 8", or 92". 
> 
> 92 inches/1.2 = 76.66 donuts (but Dib is drunk, so we'll forgive him for not including that extra 1 2/3 donuts).
> 
> Thank you for your time.
> 
> EDIT: shouts out to ao3 user ColdHeartedVixen for correcting my math on this, also i'm never doing math again RIP


	10. Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm your carnal flower, I'm your bloody rose. Pick my petals off and make my heart explode. I’m your deadly nightshade, I'm your cherry tree. You’re my one true love, I'm your destiny.” - Marina and the Diamonds

**i.**

“Ahh… ugh.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Dib.”

Dib cracked an eye open. From on top of him, Zim was staring at his face, his eyes unfocused and his antennae pointing in different directions. 

“Yeah?” Dib asked.

“Do you feel as terrible as I do?”

Dib hummed, shifting a little under Zim’s weight.

“I feel worse,” he said, and Zim huffed.

“Unlikely,” said Zim, his eyes narrowed. 

Despite his raging hangover, Dib smiled. He looked up at Zim, whose face was still painted blue everywhere but on one of his cheeks, where the blue had smudged with some of Dib’s pink and made purple. Something about that felt right to Dib, so he leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on the dried paint. 

“What was that for?” asked Zim.

“Just felt like it,” said Dib. 

“Hmm.” 

Zim ducked down to peck Dib’s cheek as well, and Dib returned the gesture before Zim was able to pull away. Zim huffed, kissed him again, and Dib did the same. They kept going, back and forth, before Zim just growled and bit down on Dib’s jaw.

“Ow— hey! Cut it out!” cried Dib, shaking his head back and forth to free his face of Zim’s bite. 

Eventually,Zim let go, and Dib reached up to rub the spot where Zim had clamped down.

“Jerk.” 

Zim just snickered and buried his face into the nape of Dib’s neck.

“We should get going soon,” said Zim, not moving.

“Yeah,” Dib agreed, also not moving. 

Dib sighed. He readjusted himself again under Zim’s weight. It was times like these that he remembered just how heavy Zim was, although, really, he couldn’t say he minded it. He enjoyed the feeling of Zim on top of him. It kind of reminded him of the weighted blanket his father had bought him when he was in hi skool and suffering from insomnia. There was something soothing about being crushed by the weight of the temperamental irken. _His_ temperamental irken, he thought tenderly, pulling up the blankets so they were both covered and cozy beneath them.

He wrapped an arm around Zim’s back, just under his PAK, noticing that Zim was wearing the missing college sweatshirt that Dib had lent him weeks ago when they had just left Dirt. He kept forgetting to ask Zim where it was, and he hadn’t taken the initiative to really look around for it, but apparently Zim had taken it upon himself to squirrel it away until the next time he wanted to wear it. And, from what Dib could tell, the little irken wasn’t wearing anything else. Although, if that feeling against his leg was any indication, he was also still wearing Dib’s flamingo socks. 

As much as Dib liked that sweatshirt, he was kind of tickled by the idea of Zim wearing it. It reminded him of all those times the girls in his class wore their boyfriends’ sweatshirts, like it was some kind of public statement about their relationship. He was considering this when he felt Zim’s hand trail down his bare side and snap the waistband of his boxers against his hip.

In retaliation, Dib reached down and goosed Zim on the ass. Zim just whined, his protests turning to a pleased hum when Dib reached down a little lower to lightly scratch the back of the irken’s thigh. Dib chuckled, ducking his head down to plant a quick kiss on Zim’s forehead. He continued the soft touches for a while, his eyes closed to ease the pain of his headache. Distantly, he realized that he was drifting back to sleep.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” said Zim, and Dib opened his eyes.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Am not,” said Zim, and Dib just let his head sink deeper into the pillow and went back to gently dragging his fingernails along the curve of Zim’s leg. 

Dib liked the way Zim’s muscles tightened and relaxed under his fingers. 

Not for the first time, his thoughts drifted to just how paradoxical Zim was, just as a being. After millennia of intensive breeding, Zim’s planet had made him a natural-born predator: cunning, fast, and impossibly strong for his size. He was resourceful enough to build whatever he wanted out of Dib’s outdated Earth gadgets. Dib towered over him, but he could take Dib down in one well-placed blow. He could take a hit like no one Dib had ever seen, and he recovered at lighting speed. He had sharp teeth that could tear through Dib’s skin with no trouble, and strong, hard nails that some irkens kept sharp enough to slice through muscle and soft tissue. Zim, on the other hand, chewed his nails incessantly, a secret shame of his, so they were sometimes jagged and uneven. As of late, though, Zim had taken to keeping his nails groomed enough so that he could slip his fingers into Dib’s body without causing any damage. 

And yet, despite all this power and potential, despite having the ability to adapt, to react, literally bred into him, Zim was hooked up to a computer that was constantly telling him how he should behave and what he should want. Dib wondered if maybe Irk’s leaders (the Brains or the Tallest, he wasn’t really sure) kept the PAK’s brainwashing function intact because they were afraid of an uprising from the super-soldiers they’d created. Or, maybe, they just hadn’t figured out how to breed an irken smart enough to invade an entire planet but still obedient enough not to challenge the leadership. 

It seemed unfair that Zim’s natural instincts to fight and learn were always being encouraged by the PAK, but his “weaker” desires, like mating and companionship and self-preservation, were constantly being shoved aside in favor of whatever was more useful to the Empire. Dib knew that Zim was smarter than he sometimes let on, and he also knew that Zim was blindly loyal to his leaders — another paradox that Dib just couldn’t wrap his head around. Sometimes, it felt like Zim was trapped under the thumb of his own PAK, suffering from some outrageous form of Stockholm Syndrome. 

What bothered Dib most was that, with the PAK constantly ordering Zim around, he sometimes felt like he didn’t even know where Zim’s actual personality was in that whole mess. Who would he be if he didn’t have that thing whispering in his antennae all the time? Dib had gotten better at recognizing PAK Zim versus Real Zim, but, honestly, was it even that simple? That black and white?

“We should get moving soon, anyway,” murmured Dib.

“Yes, let’s get going,” agreed Zim.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, neither moving, except for Dib’s hand, which was lightly massaging Zim’s back and side in search of any pockets of fat the irken might be hiding. Nope — none. How could he eat that much junk food and not be even a little chubby? Unfair.

With his other hand, Dib reached up to scratch his nose and inhaled the familiar smell of Zim’s body. He inhaled again, enjoying what was left of the scent on his index and middle fingers. He felt a zing of excitement run down his body as he thought back to the night before, how Zim had wanted it, no, he had _requested_ it. Dib felt his heartbeat quicken at the memory and abruptly shoved his fingers into his mouth. He licked off most of the residue left on his fingers, his other hand roaming over Zim’s leg and backside, gently scratching and squeezing. 

Dib thought back to the night before. He realized that, despite the amount he’d had to drink, he actually remembered everything perfectly: the confusing drink menu, climbing into Zim’s lap, meeting Teresh the Shoran, the glow of lights against Zim’s face while they were dancing, talking about Irk, dashing off to the bathroom… 

Zim shifted a little on top of him with an uncomfortable grunt. Dib chewed on the nail of his middle finger thoughtfully, savoring the remaining flavor. He remembered how everything had happened, how drunk they had been. What they’d said. He wondered if Zim did, too, and if Zim regretted any of it. 

Dib swallowed.

“I can’t believe I remember everything from last night, after how much I drank,” he said.

Zim looked up.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how you can forget stuff when you get really drunk?” asked Dib.

“No,” said Zim, confused. “That doesn’t happen with Vortian alcohols.”

“Oh,” Dib considered. “Huh.”

“Did you… want to forget?” asked Zim, and Dib felt himself smile.

“No way,” he said.

“Okay,” said Zim. “Me neither.”

“Good.” 

“Mmm.”

“Do you, um, feel okay?” Dib asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “After last night?”

“No, I just said—”

“I mean… you know what I mean,” said Dib. “Like… are you sore at all?”

“Oh,” said Zim. “No. I feel fine.”

“Okay, good,” said Dib. 

Zim shifted a bit again, then added: “Maybe a little sore.”

“Sorry,” said Dib, his face getting hot.

“It’s fine.”

“We don’t have to do that again,” added Dib. “I mean, it was… you know, great, obviously. Well, you know, I thought it was, but, if you don’t want to, it’s not like we, you know, _have to_ —”

“Cease your yammering,” groaned Zim, shifting again so he could look at Dib’s face.

“Sorry.”

“I would… like to do it again. Another time. Not now.”

“Yeah, I mean… if you want to,” said Dib, feeling a little relieved.

“Okay. I do,” said Zim. 

From above him, Zim gave a nod of finality, then whined, then collapsed back into the crook of Dib’s neck.

 

They lay like that for a while, Dib rubbing Zim’s thigh, Zim making pleased little noises into his neck. Reaching down with his other hand, Dib gently spread Zim’s legs so they were on either side of his hips. He continued the little touches, tickling the backs of Zim’s knees and making him squirm. 

“Evil human,” muttered Zim, his face still pressed into Dib’s neck, “with your evil human fingers.” 

Dib hummed, pretending to be confused. “I thought you liked my fingers.” 

Zim huffed softly, clearly lacking the energy to argue. Dib just smiled and scratched gently up Zim’s legs to his back, digging a little harder into the hot seam where skin met PAK. Zim melted.

“Hmm. I suppose I like them. Sometimes,” said Zim.

Dib chuckled a little.

“I’m glad you do,” he said. 

Then, because he was feeling curious and for no other reason, he asked: “What else do you like?”

Zim looked up at him, catching his gaze through half-closed eyes. Dib thought he was about to start making fun of him, but, instead, Zim shifted so he was leaning on one elbow and ran a finger down Dib’s nose.

“This thing,” he said.

Dib arched a brow.

“You said my nose was ‘disgusting’ and… ‘primitive,’ I want to say,” he reminded.

Zim just shrugged. “I changed my mind. It would look weird if you didn’t have one.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

Zim nodded, then buried his free hand into Dib’s hair. He tugged it gently, combing his fingers through the knots that had formed while Dib was sleeping.

“I like this, too,” said Zim.

“My hair?”

“Mmm-hmm.” 

Self-consciously, Dib ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he snagged a particularly bad knot. He should really cut it. It was kind of out of control at this point.

“Why?” he asked. 

“It’s… very full. I like that.”

“Full? Full of what?”

“Mmph,” responded Zim, shifting up so he could bury his face into Dib’s hair, just behind his ear. He inhaled hard. 

“I don’t know. It just is. Stop asking questions,” said Zim.

Dib wrapped his arms around Zim, pulling him closer, thinking that he must really have it bad for the irken if even Zim’s inability to express himself seemed kind of cute. He felt Zim’s eyes on him and looked up.

“What?”

“What do _you_ like?” asked Zim, and Dib smirked.

“Everything.”

“Specify.”

Dib rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

“Okay, fine. I like your eyes,” said Dib. 

Zim stayed quiet, just looking at him, blinking those big raspberry eyes. Dib still found it odd that, with no pupils or even eyebrows, Zim was able to be so expressive. Maybe he wasn’t, actually, and Dib had just become able to discern the subtle changes in expression over hours and hours of staring at those eyes.

“I also like these—”

He reached up and lightly ran a finger up the back of one of Zim’s antennae. Zim shuddered, closing his eyes until Dib pulled his hand away. He ducked down to kiss Dib quickly on the mouth.

They fell into silence again, with Zim nuzzling into Dib’s hair and Dib slipping under his own sweatshirt to run his hands up and down Zim’s sides. They laid together for a while, drifting in and out of sleep.

“This reminds me of Saturday mornings,” whispered Dib. “Back on Earth.”  


“How?” Zim whispered back.

“Just… lying in bed, not doing anything. Usually, on Friday nights, I would stay up really late because it was the weekend and I didn’t have to go to school the next day. So I just… wouldn’t go to sleep until, like, four in the morning, because I was outside trying to find monsters or aliens or something. Or because I was watching TV or playing video games or whatever.”

“Did you find them?” asked Zim.

“Who, the monsters?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes,” said Dib. “Other times they were just, I don’t know, the neighbor’s dog or something.”

Dib bit his lip, thinking back to one particular werewolf hunting incident that had ended in disaster. And, to his indignation, the neighbors hadn’t even wanted the dog back after Dib had very kindly raised it from the dead and returned it to them. It had seemed kind of superficial of them to not accept his offering just because the dog’s eye kept falling out and there was a decent chance it would try to eat them alive. 

“What about aliens?” asked Zim.

“When I was really young, I remember getting abducted and experimented on,” said Dib.“Although, the more I think about it, the more I feel like it was all just some kind of weird dream. I don’t know, it just didn’t seem like it could have actually happened.”

Zim hummed in agreement.

“I don’t know who would have gone all the way to your dirtball planet just to experiment on some humans and leave,” he said.

“Well,” said Dib, ignoring the jab at Earth, “that was kind of what I thought. I first got interested in paranormal stuff because I wanted to find out if any of them had stuck around.”

“And?” 

Dib shrugged.

“Nothin’. But, it didn’t matter. I still knew they were out there.”

Dib wrapped his arms around Zim again and hugged him tightly.

“I knew I’d find you eventually.” 

Zim held Dib’s cheek in one hand. He turned Dib’s face so they were looking at each other and kissed him softly. Dib pulled away and they looked at each other, not saying anything.

“You would never find me if I were on Earth,” Zim said eventually. “My disguise would be too ingenious for you to recognize me.”

Dib arched a brow.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” 

“It’s true,” said Zim.

“Mmm-hmm.”

They fell back into silence, Dib lightly massaging Zim’s antenna and Zim curling his fingers around Dib’s hair. 

“We should leave soon,” said Zim. 

Dib agreed, and they lay together, saying nothing for a while.

“Did you ever have anything like that?” asked Dib.

“What?”

“Lazy mornings when you just lie in bed and hang out?”

“No,” said Zim.

“Not even when you were little?” 

Zim sat on his elbow and glared down at Dib.

“I mean,” backtracked Dib, “when you were young.”

“When I was young, I trained,” said Zim. “Every day, all day. There were no mornings of laziness.” 

“Oh,” said Dib.

Zim was still looking down at him, a thoughtful look on his face.

“What did you do next?” he asked. “After lying in bed all morning?” 

“When I finally got up,” said Dib, “I usually went downstairs and had breakfast with Gaz.”

“Who?” asked Zim.

“You know who,” said Dib. “The girl in my pictures. With the purple hair?” 

“That’s Gaz?” 

“Yeah,” said Dib. “That’s my sister.” 

Zim kept staring at him, the gears clearly turning in his head.

“She had the same DNA as you,” he said.

“Well.” The details on that were fuzzy. “Pretty much. I think. Usually, that’s what siblings are — they have the same parents. But, in our case we were both experiments, and we didn’t really have a mom. So, as far as I know, we don’t share any of the same DNA. I guess it’s more like… my dad raised us together as his kids. We lived in the same house until I moved for college. We were a little more unconventional, I would say.”

“Dad,” said Zim. 

“Yeah, my dad. My father. I told you about him.” 

Dib had been light on the details, though. Professor Membrane wasn’t exactly his favorite person to talk about.

“Why… why not just have all the children be raised together? Why live in the house with just the sister?” asked Zim. “That’s so inefficient.”

“It’s not supposed to be efficient. It’s supposed to be a family.” 

Sometimes, it kind of was. Like when he and Gaz played video games together. Or like when his dad brought him down to the basement to work on an experiment with him. When he turned sixteen, his dad had gotten him a brand new lab coat and a really fancy set of goggles. Together, they would spend rainy days researching and hypothesizing and planning new experiments. Once Membrane had realized how much Dib loved space, they would even go on overnight trips to the observatory a few hours away. Near the end of hi skool, Dib had actually thought that he and his dad were finally finding some common ground, and, maybe, his dad would finally accept his dream to be a paranormal investigator. Then he found out he was being sent away.

“Did you have anything like that?” asked Dib. “Like… a parent, or a mentor, or anything?”

“My Tallest,” said Zim automatically.

“No,” said Dib, “I mean, someone who kept an eye on just you. Like someone who was in charge of _your_ wellbeing specifically. Who took care of you.”

Zim was quiet for a while.

“I guess not,” he said. “It wasn’t necessary.” 

“Even right when you were born? When you were a baby?”

“I wasn’t born,” said Zim. “I hatched and then was activated. I took care of myself.” 

“Were you alone?” asked Dib. “When you hatched?” 

“At the beginning, yes. Well, not totally. I had the robot arm that put my PAK on me. She was nice.” 

Hmm. That was pretty sad. No wonder Zim was always going off about how great robots are. He’d probably had some kind of primal bonding moment with the first thing he saw, and that thing had ended up being a cold, unfeeling robot arm. Dib wondered if _he_ had been alone when he was brought to life. He doubted it. He’d probably been surrounded by his father and a bunch of scientists that worked for Membrane Enterprises. That was also kind of sad, he realized, but in a different way from how Zim’s birth had been sad. 

 

“Did you like the Gaz sister?” asked Zim after they’d been quiet for a few minutes.

“Yeah, of course,” said Dib. “She was my sister. I loved her.” 

“You loved her?” 

“Yeah, I mean. I still do, I guess. We grew up together, and we were friends for a while. We took care of each other when my dad was working and we played games together. She wasn’t… the friendliest all the time, but I still liked spending time with her, and I think she liked hanging out with me sometimes, too.”

“Hmm,” said Zim. 

“Did you have anyone like that?” asked Dib. “Anyone who you spent time with? Who had your back?”

“My Tallest.”  


“Besides them.”

Zim was thoughtful for a while.

Eventually, he said, “I suppose there were a couple of others from my schooling that were decent companions.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. I had one schoolmate who did everything I told him to. He was a great sport. Does that count?”

Dib considered this. 

“Yeah, I guess it could count. Who else?”

“Well, there was another that was always trying to keep me from getting in trouble. She didn’t respect my genius, really. But she also… well. She helped me out a few times. Not nearly as often as I helped her, though, of course…”

Dib waited to see if Zim would continue, but he didn’t. Instead, he buried his head into Dib’s hair again, and Dib wrapped an arm around Zim’s back and hugged him tightly.

“That sounds like me and my sister,” said Dib. “That’s part of the reason why I loved her, you know? She kept me out of trouble, for the most part. Saved my ass a few times. Like your friend.”

“Hmph.”

“It’s nice having people in your life that you can count on. That you love,” said Dib thoughtfully.

“I only love my Tallest,” said Zim from his spot in Dib’s hair.

“And me,” added Dib. 

Zim gave an acknowledging grunt.

“What did you do after having breakfast?” asked Zim.

“Well,” said Dib. “It depended. Sometimes I would do homework, or watch TV, or work on a case. Most of the time I just worked on my computer or some project I had going on.”

“What kind of project?”

“I built stuff, you know, like a telescope one time. I built my laptop and the TV that I had in my room. Sometimes I would mess around with my dad’s stuff.”

Like the Dadbot, which made them dinner and reminded them to clean their rooms. It started malfunctioning once, because his dad hadn’t been home enough to do the necessary routine maintenance on it, so Dib and Gaz had fixed it up together. Dib had then coded a few new recipes into it so they weren’t just eating beans all the time, and Gaz had installed an override so it wouldn’t send a message to Membrane every time they missed curfew. In the end, Dadbot made for a decent parent, and Dib hadn’t said anything when Gaz programmed it to sit with her while she played video games and tuck her in at night. 

“Then what?” asked Zim, pulling Dib out of his daydream.

“That was it,” said Dib.

“That was what you did with the entire day?” asked Zim. “And you did this often?”

“Yup.”

Zim looked up at Dib, bewildered. Dib just shrugged. They looked at each other for a while, and Dib watched Zim’s expression go from confusion to haughtiness to something more neutral.

“I want to do that,” said Zim eventually.

Dib tried not to look taken aback. He wrapped a hand around the back of Zim’s neck and pulled him down, bringing their lips together. They kissed for a little while, lazy and with no real intention to take things farther. 

“Okay,” said Dib when they pulled apart. “Let’s just do nothing, then.”

 

Dib didn’t like to overthink things. He knew he could be obsessive on occasion, based on what Gaz, his father, his classmates, and his therapist had all told him multiple times. But, he wasn’t really like that anymore — he’d left behavior like that back on Earth, and here, in space, he was more mature and rational. Still, he found himself constantly thinking and theorizing about Zim. What was he thinking? Why had he done that? What made him like this? 

It wasn’t Dib’s fault. Zim was fascinating. 

And, not to mention, they’d been together, sharing a little spaceship for, what, almost three months now? Just the two of them, aboard _The Mothman_ , with nothing but the other for entertainment. Really, anyone would get carried away thinking about Zim and his history and what made him tick. It was a testament to Dib’s self-control that he hadn’t been swallowed whole by another obsession. 

Zim had been quiet for a while, and Dib realized that he had fallen back asleep. Dib planted a light kiss against the side of Zim’s head, careful not to wake him. He slowly ran his hands up and down Zim’s body, reveling, again, in how Zim’s build was so similar to Dib’s, yet so different: a skeleton, but with dense, heavy bones that were able to bend before they snapped. A short ribcage that housed only the most vital parts of the irken’s only internal organ. A frame that was narrow but not too slim. Strong muscles that could carry Dib with ease. Skin, soft and dry and green, that healed so well, it didn’t have a single flaw.

Well. Zim’s skin was almost flawless. Dib couldn’t feel Zim’s tattoo through the fabric of his own sweatshirt, but he’d seen it countless times. Zim was always so proud of it: a symbol of his loyalty, of what he was willing to endure on behalf of his leaders. Dib hated it. He wanted it gone. 

Regardless of Dib’s… attention to detail, he really had learned a lot about Zim since they first met. He understood better why Zim had been so afraid of intimacy at first, and why he’d been nervous about opening up to Dib about his feelings. Zim was still confusing and, sure, there were still some things that didn’t add up in his story. But how bad could it be, in comparison to this: lying in bed and doing nothing for an entire morning? Dib had a feeling it would all unravel in good time — which was what they had. Time. Time to sort out their issues, to figure out what to do about Zim’s PAK. Time to get Zim’s story straight and figure out why he’d lied. In their future, Dib saw them, together, with all these issues settled and they could just be. They both deserved that, didn’t they? Hadn’t they both, for their own reasons, earned the chance to find simple happiness with another person? 

It wasn’t like Dib wanted anything huge. He wanted to be with Zim, to spend time together, to explore and build things together and find new adventures. He wanted to go to Irk with Zim and make a plan on what to do next. He wanted to go back to Sirius Minor one day and lick its sweet seawater off every inch of Zim’s body. He wanted to go dancing again (finally, he got what was so great about _dancing_!). He wanted to make additions to his map with Zim until it was double — no, triple — its current size. He wanted to memorize every one of Zim’s quirks, his habits, his hopes and his fears. He wanted to grow old watching Zim grow old — even if Zim was irken and his life span was different from Dib’s. They would figure that out, too. He wanted to hear Zim tell him he loved him every day for the rest of his life. 

Dib let his head fall back against the pillow. He swallowed, noting that he was parched and should probably grab some water soon. He would do that later. Right now, his head was still killing him, and he was still pretty tired, so he would just close his eyes and relax for a few more minutes. He wrapped his arms around Zim, squeezing lightly, thinking that he might have the worst hangover he’d ever had in his life, but he was still the happiest he’d ever been.


	11. Snapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you. 

**i.**

Careening through space at scary-fast speed, Dib had never felt freer. With his new drive installed, he and Zim could go almost anywhere in space. And they’d be going together. 

Granted, he also still felt like crap. He sat with Zim in the cockpit, nursing a glass of water and waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in while Zim yammered on about his new SF-Drive, how it worked, and why _this_ particular model was the obvious and best choice for Dib’s ship. Dib just listened, only half paying attention to Zim. It wasn’t his fault; he kept getting distracted by the view of many days’ worth of space passing by them in a matter of a few minutes. 

It was odd, backtracking like this at such a high speed, and everything around Dib appeared different, like he was looking at it all through a new vantage point. He and Zim talked intermittently through the afternoon, occasionally falling into silence. Dib had been grateful to Zim for driving, because his head was still a little foggy from the night before, and his stomach was rolling uncomfortably. Maybe it was because of the hangover, or maybe because he was traveling faster than any human had ever traveled in the history of time itself. If it weren’t for Zim providing the occasional welcome distraction, he would probably be puking right now.

Zim, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine, and was currently whistling a cheerful tune as his fingers danced over the control panel. Dib watched him for a few minutes, noticing that, contrary to the happy whistling and tapping foot, Zim’s antennae were twitching — sporadic, shaky movements that made Dib nervous.

“Hey, you okay?” asked Dib.

“Hmm? Of course I am. Why?” asked Zim, wiping at his chin as he spoke.

“You look a little worried,” said Dib, and Zim whipped his head around, his eyes wide with surprise.

“No, I don’t!” he snapped.

Dib cocked a brow. 

“You kinda do,” said Dib.

“I— well— I’m fine. Just, uh. Getting used to the new drive. I want to make sure it’s working properly.”

Dib felt his stomach drop a little, and he winced in discomfort.

“What do you mean? Is it not? What’s wrong with it?” he asked. “Is it not installed right?”

“Of course it is,” said Zim. “It’s just, you know. Your ship.”

“What? What’s wrong with my ship?” asked Dib, a little offended.

“Well,” said Zim, and there was a pause. “It’s not built for this speed. That’s it. That might be an issue. We’ll see.”

“Should I put on my suit, just in case?” asked Dib, gesturing down to the compartment where he kept his homemade spacesuit tucked away, safely within reach.

“Uh. No. I’ll let you know,” said Zim.

“Okay, well, are you gonna let me know when my ship is falling apart and I’m already floating through deep space? Or are you gonna let me know before I die?”

Zim winced, and he looked over at Dib apologetically.

“It— it’s not a big deal. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Zim,” said Dib, “what’s going on?” 

Zim peeked over at him and shot him a quick smile.

“Oh, you know me. Just… too thorough,” he said, and Dib leaned back in his chair. 

“Okay. If something’s wrong, you’ll tell me, right?” asked Dib.

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” said Dib. “Good.” 

“Okay.”

They were quiet for a few more minutes. 

“Hey, Dib, would you rather die out in the middle of deep space or eat nothing but those yucky Vort Dogs from last night for the rest of your life?” 

“Die out in space, for sure.”

 

Dib checked his watch. They’d taken their time getting out of up that morning, and, once they had finally rolled out of bed, they also had taken a long shower together, made breakfast sandwiches, and tidied up the bedroom a little before settling into the cockpit and taking off. So, they’d only been traveling for a few hours, but they were making ridiculously good time. According to Zim, they were less than a day away from Sirius Minor, and, after that, it would be just a matter of time before they got to Irk. Dib sat on his hands, excited to finally see Irk, but nervous about what he might find there. When he’d asked Zim what it was like in an attempt to get some more information, Zim had just said “pink,” and left it at that.

Dib had given up on the idea that Zim was really being hunted by the authorities, because they hadn’t seen any sign that anyone other that Sizz-Lorr had been looking for them. No wanted posters, no bounty hunters, no cops sneaking after them — nothing like that. Plus, Zim had assured him that they absolutely weren’t walking right into their own demise, and Dib figured he was probably right. Still, Dib wondered what was waiting for them on Irk, and whether it was the happy-ever-after that Dib had been fantasizing about. He tried not to think about the fact that, with his luck, it probably wasn’t.

They chatted in the cockpit for a while, unable to leave the ship on autopilot while they were at this speed. Even though they’d slept in and spent the majority of their day lying in bed, Dib still realized that he was starting to feel drowsy just a few hours after they’d started driving. He yawned and looked over at Zim, who was looking at him.

“What?” asked Dib.

Zim looked forward, out the windshield, then back at Dib.

“I have something to show you.”

“What is it?” asked Dib, secretly wondering if he was finally going to learn what it was that was making Zim so nervous.

“Are you ready?”

“Uh… yeah?” said Dib, unsure of what he was supposed to be ready for.

Zim’s PAK whirred, and the top compartment opened up enough for a small vial of liquid to pop out and land in Zim’s waiting hand. The liquid was cloudy and gray, with flecks of… something floating around in it. Zim hesitated before turning sideways in the pilot’s seat so he could hold the vial up between himself and Dib. Dib looked at it, then at Zim, who was staring at him again. When he realized Zim wasn’t going to say anything, Dib cleared his throat.

“So, uh. What’s that?”

“I made it,” said Zim, reaching up to nervously smooth a twitching antenna.

When Zim shifted, Dib watched the liquid move in its vial, and he realized that the stuff was so thick, it was practically gelatinous. It made him nauseated all over again.

“Uh huh. For me?” asked Dib.

“No,” said Zim quickly. “For me.”

“What? Why? What does it do?” asked Dib. 

Zim looked flustered, then his eyes were on Dib again and he had that same hesitant, flushed smile that he wore sometimes when they were in bed together, when he was doing something new and seeking Dib’s praise or approval. Dib smiled back, feeling just as nervous as Zim looked and not nearly as eager to provide said approval. 

“It will make me taller,” said Zim.

Wait, what?

“Wh— taller? Since when do you want to be taller?” asked Dib.

He knew it was a stupid question. He knew every irken in the entire universe, maybe even the Tallest themselves, wanted to be taller. Zim looked at him, still holding the vial between them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Zim, “and, no, _technically_ it isn’t illegal to consume a growth serum and become taller. I checked.”

“Since when do you care about what is and isn’t illegal,” said Dib, before mentally cursing himself for getting sidetracked. “Anyway, why— why are you doing this? What’s wrong with just getting recoded? I thought that was the plan?”

“I don’t want to be an Invader anymore,” said Zim.

“What? Why not? That’s… that’s the whole reason… _what_?”

“I want to be Tallest.”

Dib’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed the sides of his head with his hands. He realized that, in any other context, he probably looked ridiculous. He didn’t care. He stared at Zim, who stared back at him, jaw set and antennae still trembling a little.

“You’re joking,” said Dib.  


“I am not joking,” said Zim.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. You have to be.”

“I’m not!”

Dib jumped at Zim’s sharp, loud tone, at the way the vial was still right in front of him, shaking as Zim shook. 

“Okay, okay,” said Dib, reaching forward to take the vial from Zim’s hand. “Let’s just calm down for a second.”

“I am calm,” hissed Zim, and Dib leaned forward to pat Zim’s knee lightly.

“Just walk me through this, please?” asked Dib, and Zim relaxed a little, letting Dib take the serum and inspect it. “When did you decide to do this?”

“On Foodcourtia.”

Dib paused, looking from the vial to Zim.

“On Foodcourtia,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“When?” asked Dib.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Zim, nonchalant. “A while ago.”  


“You came up with this idea all by yourself?” asked Dib, a sick suspicion worming its way into Dib’s brain.

“Well, no, actually,” said Zim. “It was something that Virooz—”

Zim froze, knowing he’d been caught. He spoke again, rapidly, trying to backtrack.

“It was something we had discussed and I hadn’t really thought about it much but then you came along and it just worked out so perfectly how funny is that?”

Zim’s apparent guilt only made Dib even more certain, and, suddenly, the pieces were starting to fall into place. Why Zim had lied. Why they’d gone all the way to Cyberflox. What they were really getting there.

“So, last night, when you said you weren’t sure what we’d be doing when we got to Irk…”

Zim cleared his throat.

“Ah, well… I may have—”

“Tell me it’s real,” said Dib.  


“Tell… what? What’s real?” asked Zim, shrinking away from Dib, who was white-knuckling the vial. He set his jaw, trying to collect himself before he spoke again.

“Tell me the wormhole we went through was real,” he said. 

Even though he knew it wasn’t.

“The… wormhole?”

“The one-way wormhole. That we couldn’t go back through. That shot us hundreds of lightyears away from Foodcourtia while I was conveniently unconscious. Tell me it’s real.”

“Of course it is.”

“So, you can drive us by it, and we’ll see it on the way to Irk?” asked Dib, and Zim’s face drained of all its color.

“It’s not on the way to Irk.”

“We have an SF-Drive now. Take a detour.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We had time to go out last night. We had time to lie around all morning. We don’t have time to go over and just see the wormhole?” asked Dib.

He ground his teeth waiting for Zim to answer.

“It might not be there,” said Zim. “It might have moved. Or collapsed.”

“Really?” asked Dib, shifting so he was properly facing Zim, the vial still in his hands. “A wormhole big enough, stable enough for us to get through might have collapsed already?”

“It… might have moved,” squeaked Zim.

“Couldn’t have gone far,” said Dib. “And, besides, if it did, I’d want to adjust the map accordingly.”

Zim swallowed. 

“Unless you lied to me,” said Dib. “Unless you added a wormhole that wasn’t there to _my_ map.”

Zim sunk lower in his chair and glanced away.

“You are asking all of these questions now, after all this time?” he asked.

“I believed you before,” said Dib. “Now, I don’t.” 

Zim’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he was glaring back at Dib.

“I thought you said you trusted me,” he said.

Dib felt something rattling in his chest, old and long-forgotten. Betrayal.

“Tell me the wormhole is real,” said Dib.

Zim threw his hands into the air.

“Fine!” he barked. “I lied! It wasn’t real, the wormhole wasn’t real.” 

“Why did you lie?” said Dib, still trying to keep his cool, but he felt himself standing up to tower over Zim. 

“B-because, I had to—” started Zim.

“You had to do what?” snapped Dib.

“I had to— Dib, please! Can we not focus on this?” asked Zim, his voice shaking. “Think about what this could mean for us! Me, Tallest! All of Irk, the whole Empire, ours!” 

Zim leaned forward, grabbing for the vial but missing as Dib pulled his hand away. He huffed, then reached for Dib’s free hand, looking up with pleading eyes.

“We can be together! On my home, on Irk! Doesn’t that sound nice?” begged Zim.

Dib looked away. 

“You lied to me.”

“Only because—”

“Shut up.” 

Zim wilted. After a pause, Dib looked down at him. 

“Why?”

“‘Why,’ what?” asked Zim.

“Why do you want this?” asked Dib, holding up the vial, looking at it in the light of the cockpit.

Most of Zim’s concoctions were kind of gross-looking. This one might has well have had a skull and crossbones floating around in it. 

“Why do you even want to be Tallest?”

Zim shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortably up at Dib.

“Can I have that back, please?” he asked.

“Answer the question,” said Dib.

Zim looked away, then his antennae flattened on his head.

“ _Because_ , it… it’s my turn!”

“For what?”

“To have it! To have their power! To be Tallest, to be respected, not some kind of… of… _reject_ , getting tossed aside—”

Zim looked at Dib, like he was hoping to be interrupted. Dib stared down at him, silent.

“When I become Tallest, we can do whatever we want! We… we can live in the finest house, we can drink Vortian bubbles every night, if we want to, we… we can rule, together! The two of us!” 

Zim clenched his fist.

“We can conquer!” he said. “Whatever we want can be ours! We can rain doom upon all of our enemies, upon everyone who has wronged us!”

“I don’t _want_ to conquer,” said Dib, snatching his hand from Zim’s grasp and crossing his arms. 

Zim sputtered, reaching for Dib again and grabbing him by the hips, pulling him forward, guiding him into the space between his legs. 

“Dib, please?” he asked. “Please, just consider—”

“I still don’t get it,” said Dib, finally looking down. “I just… I thought we were happy like this.”

“We are!” said Zim.

“Then why do you suddenly need all the luxury?” asked Dib. 

“It’s… it’s not so much about the luxury,” admitted Zim, looking away again.

“Then what’s it about?”

“ _Them_!” snapped Zim, and, suddenly, his energy was renewed and he was glaring up at Dib again. “They left me there to rot! They ruined my life! They have to pay!”

“Who?” asked Dib, not because he didn’t know, but because he wanted to hear Zim say it.

“ _My Tallest_!” 

Zim’s PAK was clicking again, loud and consistent in the background of their fight. Dib didn’t care.

“So, what?” he asked. “You’re just gonna usurp them, and then—?”

“Exile! Deactivation! I don’t know, something!”

In another context, Dib would have been relieved to hear Zim speak against his leaders, even to hear him say he wanted them dead. But all he felt was the anger building. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, trying to collect himself again.

“Why… why would you go back there? Why do you want that?” he asked. 

Zim looked at him, confused, his gaze darting away for a moment.

“I-I just said—”

“That’s not freedom, Zim. You’re not doing whatever you want. God, how do you not know this? You don’t even see who the real enemy is here! You’re just handing yourself back over to those… those Control Brains. Even if you did become Tallest, you still have to listen to them. Why would you ever want that?”

“I… what?” asked Zim, his hands falling from Dib’s hips.

Dib looked down at him, annoyed that Zim still wasn’t getting it.

“You really want to be brainwashed by them? You seriously want to hear the Control Brains in your head, all the time?”

“They… I already hear them,” said Zim, confused.

“No, you don’t. Not like you think you do.”

Zim looked away for a moment before peering up at Dib, one eye squinted and the other wide open. 

“Dib, what are you saying?”

“You’re not like them! You’re clearly different! What’s it called? Defective!”

He hadn’t meant it as an insult (really, he thought it was more of a compliment), but Zim stood up on his chair so he was at Dib’s height and scowled at him.

“What did you say to me?”  


“Zim, don’t act like you don’t know—”

“Know what? What don’t I know?”

“What I just said! You’re not some kind of… mindless drone! You think independently! You don’t do what they say!”

“That’s not true!” bellowed Zim, and Dib was actually shocked to find the little irken screaming in his face, his eyes bright with rage.

“Yes! It! Is!” Dib screamed back, the vial still tight in his grip. 

Without thinking, Dib grabbed Zim by the back of his neck and crashed their mouths together. He felt Zim stiffen in his grasp, and he broke the kiss.

“Look, just… just calm down, okay? You’re not being yourself right now,” he murmured. “Let’s just forget this, and soon you’ll go back to normal, and—”

Zim pulled away, his face contorted with rage.

“Not being myself? Who else would I be?” he snapped. “What are you even talking about?”

“Just… just stop listening to it. I know you can do it, you’ve done it before. Just listen to me, okay? You need to calm down, and we can just forget this whole thing ever—”

“How dare you?” shrieked Zim. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about, you, you—”

“What, Zim, what am I?” asked Dib, his cheeks getting hot again. 

Zim grabbed Dib by the collar of his shirt, his face so close to Dib’s that Dib could see that Zim had started to sweat.

“You human! You pitiful, primitive beast, you know nothing of Irk, and you know nothing of Zim!”

Dib grit his teeth.

“I know that you’re defective,” he hissed. “You wanna know how I know? You escaped from your assigned position. Regular irkens don’t do that!”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did. Don’t tell me you didn’t, Zim, I risked my ass to help you do it!”

“I had to! I had no choice—”

Dib waved the vial of liquid in front of Zim’s face — another piece of proof.

“You dragged me all the way to Cyberflox to get this… this garbage!”

“It is not garbage!”

“This is poison, Zim!” shouted Dib, although he wasn’t totally sure.

“No, it isn’t! I made it myself!” snapped Zim.

Dib grimaced at the feeling of Zim’s nails digging into his shoulders. He glared at Zim, trying desperately to calm himself down.

“What’s in it?” he whispered.

“What?” replied Zim, taken aback by the sudden quietness, although Dib’s voice was still shaking.

“What’s in it? What did you need to get from Cyberflox that you couldn’t get anywhere else?”

“I… just some things.”

“Tell me.”

Zim looked away, then back at the vial, which Dib was currently holding between them.

“The things I picked up while we were shopping.”

Dib thought back: an assortment of pills, a highly toxic acid, some explosive powder…

“For this?” asked Dib, looked at the vial in his hand.

“Yes, well, the recipe Virooz had requires—”

“Anything else?” Dib asked.

Zim exhaled, looking relieved that Dib wasn’t shouting anymore.

“Virooz… was able to get some humungoserum,” he said.

Dib didn’t know what humungoserum was, but that didn’t stop him from being angry about it.

“That was your plan all along. To get yourself to Virooz and make some kind of… growth drink? That was why we came all this way, in my ship?”

“Dib, listen—”

“Was it a trade? What did you give him?”

A sick thought hit Dib.

“Was it supposed to be me? Was I supposed to be the trade?” he asked, his face heating up further, Fitzoo-Menga's words echoing in his head.

“No, Dib, of course not!” cried Zim.

“What, then?” 

“Nothing!” squeaked Zim.

“Zim.” 

“I gave him some of my technology. Nothing big, just…” Zim drifted off, clearly not comfortable detailing what he’d traded away.

Dib stared at him. He knew what Zim had done was probably treasonous. It was also thoughtless, and selfish, and so, so stupid.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” whispered Dib. 

Zim stared back at Dib, his eyes narrowed but his antennae shaking again, his nails digging harder into Dib’s skin.

“No,” he said.

“You’re so stupid. You’re going to drink this, and you’re going to die. You… you… idiot.”

“I’m not stupid,” growled Zim. “I’m a genius. I am Zim.”

“You’re going to kill yourself—”

“No, I won’t, just… just let me have it—”

Dib took a step back and pushed Zim in the chest, successfully unhooking himself from the irken’s claws. He took another step back, farther away from Zim, and held the vial over the floor of his ship. 

“Dib, don’t you dare—”

Dib dropped the vial. With a yelp, Zim plowed into him, knocking them both over and catching the mixture before it landed on the ground. Dib fell back hard against the co-pilot’s seat and crumpled to the ground. He tried to roll away, to get his bearings, but Zim was on top of him, straddling his waist and digging his nails into his chest. Dib looked up, just seeing as the vial disappeared back into the upper compartment of Zim’s PAK. He heard himself cry out as Zim struck him hard across the face.

“FILTHY HUMAN! YOU ALMOST RUINED EVERYTHING!” screeched Zim. 

Dib tried to sit up, but Zim’s PAK legs held him down. He coughed, turning away to avoid another blow, but it didn’t come. He felt Zim take his chin in his hands and turn his head. When he opened his eyes, he realized that his glasses had been knocked off his face. He squinted at Zim, who sat above him, far enough away that his expression was an unreadable blur.

“My glasses,” he groaned.

In an instant they were being shoved onto his face. He looked up at Zim, who was grimacing down at him, looking equal parts upset, frightened, and enraged. Dib ignored the need to comfort Zim, to try and calm him down. He shouldn’t care about that right now, anyway. And the fact that he did just made him angrier.

“You wanna know how else I knew you were defective?” he asked, his voice already hoarse.

Zim’s PAK legs dug into the palms of his hands and he ground his teeth. Zim stared down at him, his eyes dark and murderous. Dib panted through his nose, overwhelmed and feeling like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Because… you’re going to kill yourself… so you can overthrow and then… murder… your own fucking leaders… that you’re supposed to love.”

Zim didn’t react. He kept staring down at Dib, and they sat in silence for a tense moment, save for the clacking of Zim’s PAK.

Finally, Zim spoke.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“What doesn’t matter?”

“It doesn’t matter… how I _feel_ about them. It doesn’t.” 

Zim’s voice was cold and quiet. It gave Dib goosebumps.

“I went to war for my Tallest. I trained every… single… _day_ for my Tallest. I slaved away at that… _disgusting_ foodery for my Tallest. I worshipped them. I did everything for them. I deserve this. I earned this. _It’s my turn_!”

With almost no effort, Zim ripped off the back of the co-pilot’s seat and slammed it onto the floor, right next to Dib’s head. Unable to help himself, Dib gasped, and he felt a quick burst of fear in his chest at he looked up at Zim, who was screaming again.

“It’s my turn! It’s my turn! No, I earned this! Shut up!”

Dib tried to pull away from Zim, who was clutching his own head, his eyes closed tight. His PAK was louder than Dib had ever head it, the clacking sound getting increasingly faster. 

“Zim…” Dib whispered, and he felt the grip on his hands loosen.

Dib sat up, carefully wrapping his arms around Zim’s body. He reeled back with a surprised shout when he made contact with Zim’s PAK, so hot that it burned his hand. He moved his hands so they were on Zim’s shaking shoulders, suddenly realizing that he was out of his depth. He’d pushed the issue of Zim’s PAK away for weeks now, because he’d been convinced it wouldn’t be that much of a problem. Clearly, he had been wrong.

“Zim, please, we don’t have to keep fighting. I’m just asking you to listen to me, okay? Just… just listen to what I’m telling you, and at least think about it? I don’t think this will make you happier. Even if it does work, and you get taller, that’s not going to help anything. This isn’t what you need.”

Zim’s hands were covering his eyes, and he was panting hard. Dib realized that he was, too, and he lightly took hold of Zim’s wrists, noticing that even Zim’s skin was hot enough that he could feel it through his rubber gloves. Dib pulled Zim’s hands away from his face and waited for Zim to open his eyes. 

After almost a minute, Zim’s eyes were still squeezed shut.

“It’s okay,” said Dib gently. 

Another minute, and Zim wasn’t looking at Dib, just panting, his eyes still closed. 

“Zim,” said Dib, and he was surprised to hear his own voice shaking a little. “Zim, come on, just look at me, please?”

Zim opened his eyes, and he looked up at Dib with so much contempt that Dib pulled away, scrambling out from under Zim until they were both sitting on the floor, a few feet apart, staring at each other.

“Stupid human. You don’t understand,” said Zim. “You never even tried to understand.”

Dib felt his face heat up all over again, the concern gone and the rage roaring back through his veins.

“ _You_ don’t understand,” he said. “I saved your life on Dirt. I broke you out of prison. I brought you to Cyberflox, and now I’m bringing you back to Irk. I… I did everything for _you_. And you lied to me. And now you won’t even _listen_ to me!”

He’d hoped that would make Zim see reason, but it didn’t. It just made Zim angrier.

“I will not waste my time listening to a fool who says Zim is a defective,” he growled.

“You _are_ a defective though!” said Dib, flinging his arms wide. “Don’t you get that? It’s a _good thing_! It’s better than being some… some… cog in a machine! It’s better than having no independent thoughts! Don’t you see that?”

“Zim is no cog! And Zim is no defective!”

“Yes, you obviously are!” snapped Dib. 

“You’re wrong!”

“You said so yourself that defectives only love the Tallest, and… hours ago, you said you loved me! If that’s not proof, than I really don’t know what is!” shouted Dib.

“I never said that!” Zim shot back.

“Yes, you did, you said so right in this very fucking room, that only defective irkens—”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” growled Zim.

Dib froze. His stomach, long forgotten, rolled again, and he closed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t going to vomit. He managed to stop himself, but he couldn’t do anything for the fresh tears that were now running down his face. 

“Stop it,” he whispered. 

“Stop what?” asked Zim, his own voice shaking as he stared at Dib.

“You’re lying. I know you remember. You said you remembered.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Zim, and Dib felt something between them snap. 

“You can’t do this to me,” said Dib. “This isn’t fair. I know you remember. You said you loved me… _last night_ … you…. you can’t…” 

He felt himself trail off, looking to Zim for help. But Zim stared back at him, his face cold and expressionless, his eyes unblinking.

“You must have just imagined it,” said Zim.

“No, Zim—”

“You must have just heard wrong. I would not say that. Because I’m _not_ a defective…”

They stared at each other for a few moments, the air heavy and the clicking of Zim’s PAK loud in Dib’s ears.

“…And that’s not how I feel about you.”

Dib didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. They stared at each other, Zim looking every bit the calculating, unfeeling irken he was bred to be while hot tears coursed down Dib’s face. Dib sniffed and used the back of his hand to wipe under his nose. Zim’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re disgusting.” 

Dib looked up, surprised, and he felt all of his grief, his heartbreak, manifest into something else. Something he was already very familiar with.

“You… you asshole. You’re so fucking selfish,” he whispered, and Zim didn’t react, his antennae were still pinned to his skull, so Dib kept going. “You’re such a coward. I hate you,” his voice got higher, and suddenly, he was screaming again. “I hate you _so fucking much_!”

“Well, I hate you, too!” snapped Zim.

“You’re an asshole! You’re a loser! You’re… you’re so goddamn _crazy_!”

The word was toxic in his mouth, but he didn’t shy away from it. So what if everyone at skool had called him crazy? So what if he’d hated it? Maybe Zim would hate it just as much as he did. He doubled down.

“You’re nothing but a crazy, stupid defective and you know it!” 

Zim bristled, and Dib felt sickening satisfaction at watching Zim’s emotionless façade shatter into a million pieces.

“I am not! I’m completely normal!” Zim shouted back.

“You’re a defective! And you’re crazy! And you’re a _liar_!”

“YOU’RE THE LIAR!”

Dib clenched his fists.

“When did I ever lie? Huh? When did I ever lie to you, Zim?” he yelled.

“When we met!” Zim replied.

“What— what are you even talking about?” asked Dib, momentarily taken aback.

“You said you didn’t want anything!” shouted Zim.

“ _What_?” asked Dib, genuinely confused but no less angry.

“When we met,” said Zim, “you said you would help me escape. And I asked you what you wanted from me, and you said nothing!”

“How was that a lie?” asked Dib.

“You didn’t want ‘nothing’! You wanted _me_!” shouted Zim, and he was on his hands and knees, leaning forward, now only about a foot away from Dib.

“What are you even talking about?” snapped Dib, but a familiar, buried feeling of guilt was starting to rise up.

“I didn’t want— you, you _made me_ —”

“I didn’t make you do anything!” snapped Dib, but his face was hot, and he was crying again. “You didn’t have to do anything! That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“You wanted it!”

“So what? I wasn’t going to force it from you! And you wanted it, too!”

“You, you… argh!” Zim sat back on his knees, grabbing his face again.

There was a moment of sweltering silence, aside, of course, from the sound coming from Zim’s PAK. Zim buried his face in his hands and Dib pushed away his guilt and embarrassment. He was in no mood to talk this out with Zim, and he certainly wasn’t about to apologize now, even as the severity of the situation around Zim’s PAK was becoming apparent. He would much rather be angry. Zim stayed quiet, and each passing moment of silence only served to fuel Dib's brewing rage. 

“So, this is my fault, then?” screamed Dib, and he took satisfaction in seeing Zim jump. “It’s all my fault for offering to help you because I liked you? I’m a bad person because I was interested in fucking you?”

“YOU’RE KILLING ME!” screeched Zim, his voice barely outmatching the sound of his PAK hammering hard on his back, the sound of metal hitting metal getting higher pitched until it was a screech, and Dib covered his ears and watched as Zim screamed and kept screaming, closing his eyes and yanking at his own antennae. 

And, despite everything, Dib felt a rush of concern at the sight, so he crawled over to Zimand reached for his hands.

“Stop that— don’t, come on,” he sniffed, knowing that Zim probably couldn’t hear him over the competing sounds of the PAK’s screeching and his own screaming.

“Zim, enough—”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!”

Dib was finally able the wrench Zim’s hands off his antennae, and he gripped him hard by the wrists, trying to ignore how hot Zim’s skin was as he tugged away his gloves. 

“Zim, please, please just, just calm down—”

Dib held Zim’s bare hands in his own, the tears still flowing, and he saw that Zim was crying, too, his eyes still shut tight as he wailed. 

The screeching of the PAK slowed and stopped, and the room was filled with a deadly, discomforting silence. Dib held his breath as Zim’s PAK glowed a bright, threatening red before dimming slightly and clicking out an unfamiliar pattern. Zim mumbled something.

“What?” asked Dib, quietly, leaning in so he could hear. 

Zim mumbled again.

“I can’t hear you, Zim, speak up.”

Zim kept mumbling, but his voice got louder, and his hands gripped back on Dib’s, hard. His eyes were still closed.

“Strength,” muttered Zim.

“What?” asked Dib, his voice shaking.

“Duty.”

“Zim—”

“Sacrifice.”

“Zim, stop, you’re freaking me out, look—”

“For Irk,” blurted Zim.

“Zim!”

“FOR IRK,” screamed Zim, and his eyes popped open and he was looking right at Dib.

And the next thing Dib knew, he was on his back, two tiny irken hands wrapped around his neck.

Zim kept screaming as he crushed Dib’s windpipe, that strange, unsettling chant that Dib had never heard in his life until now. He struggled under Zim’s hold, staring up at wide raspberry eyes that were suddenly unfamiliar and terrifying in the light of the cockpit. He dug his nails into Zim’s hands, pulled at Zim’s wrists, but to no avail, and his vision was tunneling and his realized that he was about to die. 

In a final attempt to save himself, Dib swung as hard as he could and struck Zim across the face. 

Zim reeled back, scuttling away from Dib, blinking rapidly. He grabbed for his cheek, staring wide-eyed as Dib sat up and shifted forward so he was on his knees. Zim said nothing while Dib heaved and, finally, vomited all over the floor of the cockpit. Save for the sounds of Dib retching, _The Mothman_ was silent, the sounds from Zim’s PAK having finally ceased.

Dib spit one more time and leaned back, flipping his cowlick so it was behind him again. He reached up to wipe off his face with the heel of his palm, his breath coming out in shaky pants, his vision blurry as he blinked away the last remaining tears. He looked up at Zim.

Zim was still, staring at Dib, a look of horror on his face. Dib reached up to feel his neck, sore and painful to the touch. He stared back at Zim.

“Dib, I—” Zim cut himself off, reaching up once again to hold his head in his hands.

“Zim?”

“Please leave,” muttered Zim, his eyes closing again.

“Zim, what—”

“Please, Dib,” said Zim, and Dib bit his lip at the sound of Zim’s voice shaking. 

He stared as Zim started to cry again, as fat teardrops made their way slowly down his face. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. Before today, he’d never seen Zim cry.

“Dib, I am begging you,” whimpered Zim. “Please go away.”

Dib looked around.

“Where am I supposed to go?” 

“To your room. Lock the door. Please.”

Slowly, Dib picked himself up. He stumbled to his room in silence, locking the door as Zim had asked and, for good measure, pushing his dresser in front of it as well.

He crawled into bed, his headache overwhelming. He stared at the ceiling, unable to cry, in disbelief at what had just happened. Eventually, he fell asleep.

 

**ii.**

Dib woke up the next morning feeling more tired than he had in a long time. He didn’t move for a while, just lay in bed, listening for any sound from the cockpit. He heard none. Eventually, he wandered into the bathroom and took a shower. He brushed his teeth and combed his fingers through his hair. He tried to shave, but his hands were shaky, so he just pushed the dresser away from the door and wandered into the main hull of the ship. When he got into the cockpit, the first thing he noticed was that his vomit had been cleaned up off the floor. 

Then he saw the note on the dashboard, written in black ink on a sheet of paper from one of Dib’s old research notebooks. 

Zim was gone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End 
> 
> (of Part 1)
> 
> We're halfway through! Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed the first act of my story, and thanks to those who left kudos (I'm at 100 now! Yay!) or a comment! Every time I get an email about my fic, it truly brightens my day.
> 
> What to expect in Part 2:  
> \- More characters!  
> \- More drama!  
> \- High stakes!  
> \- Snacks!
> 
> See you then!


	12. Hindsight, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where have you been? Where are you now? Who would I be, if I had not loved you? How would I know what love is?" — _Falsettos_

**i.**

Dib was alone.

 

He’d been alone for a while now. Two months. Two months and five days, to be exact. That’s how long it had been since the fight, since Zim had tried to kill him and then disappeared, gone somewhere, Dib had no idea where. 

_Don’t look for me_.

He’d just come out of his bedroom the next day to find the cockpit empty, save for the note on the dashboard, written in neat Irken, nothing but one sentence, the last thing Zim had left him. Four words. That was all he got.

Dib had read it hundreds of times, first in an attempt to decode it (was there a secret message? Something written in invisible ink?). Once he realized Zim’s note was just as it seemed, he read it a few hundred more times, all at once, standing in the middle of the cockpit, his hands shaking and his face wet with tears. 

He wanted to rip the note up, to toss it out into deep space and never think of it or Zim again. But, he couldn’t. Just like how he couldn’t throw out the gadgets Zim had left behind or the used condoms in the trash can of his bathroom. He knew it was gross. He didn’t care. Everything Zim had left behind had suddenly become a relic, a souvenir from a time when Dib had actually been happy. 

Happy, yes, but also foolish, and naive, and too forgiving. 

The next thing that Dib had noticed while he stood in the cockpit was that his ship had been programmed to fly to Earth.

Dib had actually considered it for a second: going back to Earth, settling back down, seeing Gaz — _Gaz_ , he thought suddenly, was the only person he wanted to talk to right now. She also probably hated him. He realized, then, that he couldn’t go back to Earth. He couldn’t just fly back with a broken heart, with his tail between his legs, and expect anyone to care. They’d probably all forgotten about him at this point, anyway. They’d moved on. Dib recognized that he should probably move on, too. 

 

**ii.**

A few weeks into his solitude, he directed his ship to Libraria. Because there was no way he was going to move on without getting some answers first.

Libraria was in the Iota Sector, located between the Tau and Omega Sectors. On his way there, Dib had avoided the Omega Sector, but he knew that he probably didn’t have a reason to. He wondered if Shloogorgh’s was even still open, with Gashloog and Sizz-Lorr gone. Likely not.

Thanks to his SF-Drive, Dib had gotten to Libraria in just over a week. When he got there, he docked at the parking structure and entered through one of the underground reference elevators. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, exactly, and he clicked around on the screen in front of him and eventually settled on “Xenobiology.” 

He pulled up the compass in his watch, just out of curiosity. The elevator, which was small and bullet-shaped, took him southeast and then, briefly, steered him north before turning upward and opening to a floor of books and computers. He stepped out of the elevator into a large, windowless room with low ceilings and rows and rows of bookshelves.

The librarian, a Large-Nostril Person, handed him a sheet of paper with instructions on how to get around. Dib thanked her, put the sheet of paper in his backpack, and walked into the depths of the "No Known Planet of Origin" section of the larger Xenobiology area of Libraria.

 

Dib could appreciate Libraria for what it was: an unfathomably large center for information. The entire planet, every square inch of surface space, was one large, looming building. There were no parks, no forests or deserts or oceans, just one massive library that used to be a place called Boodie Nen. 

The last time he had been here, Dib had looked around with no real plan. He had checked out the astronomy section, which was huge and densely populated. The section on Irk, too, was the best-maintained section in the whole planet, and had many snack kiosks and tons of comfy chairs and couches to sit in. 

Like every part of Libraria, the section on xenobiology was huge and overwhelming, but Dib walked purposefully to the display of reference tablets, grabbed one, and entered the keyword he was searching for. About fifteen minutes later, he was carting the tablet and a stack of books through the aisles until he found a table, large and long and uninhabited. 

Dib flipped through the first book until he found what he was looking for: a paper, written by an Irken scientist with the help of his research team, about the fetal development of the gormagander. 

Zim’s name was in stark black ink on the white page of the book, standing out among the list of research assistants and co-authors.

Dib read the whole paper, absorbing information as he looked for any sign of Zim’s involvement with the study. He didn’t know why he’d read through it; the whole reason he’d come to this section of the library was to prove that Zim had lied about his time researching the gormagander fetus. He’d only been slightly frustrated at the fact that Zim had, in fact, been telling the truth. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. But, in that moment, it mattered to Dib, so he pursued it with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Still, he didn’t need to be here, tearing through pages and pages of findings, just to see if there was any other mention of Zim. Of course, there wasn’t. Of course, the scientists had kept the fetus in a synthetic gestation chamber until it was developed enough to be “born,” and then they’d released it back into space. Dib didn’t like that — he would have preferred if the Irken scientists had killed it, like he had previously expected they would.

He was about to finish with the book and drop it into the return slot in the middle of the table when he flipped one more page and found a series of pictures of the fetus. One in particular caught his eye, of the creature in its chamber, impossibly large next to an irken on the other side of the glass. From the angle the picture was taken at, Dib could only see the irken’s profile. He wasn’t looking at the camera, but at the gormagander, his pen and clipboard forgotten in his hands as he stared up at the animal in awe. His lab coat was too long for him and pooled around his feet. Below the picture was a caption: _Tiny research assistant Zim, admiring the size of the fetus at the approximate one-year mark of gestation._

Dib read the caption again, just to be sure. He stared at the picture of a young Zim for almost ten minutes before shoving the book into the return slot and storming away. 

He returned, a few moments later, to grab one of the books and thumb through it, his heart still beating hard in his chest. Finally, he found an answer: that gormaganders were, in fact, eyeless, and had been so for millennia. He thumbed through again, finding the real piece of information that he’d been looking for. When he found it, he read it out loud.

“‘The gormagander has only one known predator, the _viridi virus_ , which attaches to the Rosea plant and is consumed by the gormagander. The _viridi virus_ feeds on the gormagander’s organs and soft tissue until it is nothing more than a shell made of skin and bone.'”

Dib shivered. 

He wondered if there was some kind of literary parallel between the gormagander and the virus and him and Zim. He soon found that he had a hard time deciding, in their situation, who was the gormagander and who was the virus, so he decided to just toss the rest of the books into the return slot and storm away for real this time. 

He went to the Periodicals section next. Once he realized that Irken news outlets were owned and operated by the government, he rerouted to a different area that might have more objective coverage. After a quick keyword search on his reference tablet, he made his way to the Vortian journals. When he got there, he poked through a few issues, deciding which newspaper he liked best. Then, he was distracted by the sound of furious whispering, just a few feet away.

He realized that the whisper was coming from someone in the next aisle over. His curiosity got the better of him, and he stealthily made his way over to the source of the sound, making sure he was tucked away and out of sight. It was at that point that he realized that the speaker was talking in Vortian.

“What am I even doing here?” 

A pause.

“How… I mean, seriously, _how_ is this not a complete waste of my time?”

Another pause. Dib peeked around the bookshelf he was currently hiding behind, noting that the speaker was a vortian, with muted grey skin, long horns, and green goggles. He had on a navy blue jumpsuit. Dib kept staring as the vortian spoke again, though no one was with him, and Dib realized that he must be speaking on some kind of hands-free communication device. In his hands, the vortian held a newspaper. 

“I know that, Spleenk… Yes… Yes… Well, you can tell T—”

Another pause.

“Yes, I know it’s important to him…. Well, fine. As the founder of this group, though, I’ll just say that I think my skills are not being fully utilized in this task.” 

Another pause, and Dib kept staring at the vortian. With an “eep!” he suddenly realized that the vortian was staring back at him.

“Who are you?” the vortian snapped.

“Um, look, sorry… I just—”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, I was just being nosy, look, I’m sorry,” said Dib quickly.

The vortian stared at Dib, his small eyes squinting from behind his goggles. 

“Who are you with?” he asked.

Dib hesitated.

“No one,” he said, trying to ignore how the truth of the statement pricked at his eyes. “I’m not… I’m not with anybody. On my own.”

The vortian walked up to him, and Dib noticed that he did, in fact, have some kind of device attached to his head, near his left horn, small and black and round. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

“What’s your name?”

“Um. Dib.”

“What are you… Dib?” asked the vortian, still squinting.

“Um… human?” he said, and the vortian’s whole face lit up.

Weird, thought Dib, since most people just gave him a blank stare when he said that.

“Human, did you say? Did you say ‘human’?” asked the vortian.

“Uh… yeah. From, um, Earth.”

“ _Earth_! Did you say ‘Earth,’ just then? Is that what you said?” asked the vortian, and he was practically bouncing up and down. 

“Yeah? Have you heard of Earth?”

“Ye—” the Vortian cut himself off and was quiet for a moment. “Uh, I mean. No. Nope. Okay, bye!” 

“Uh…” Dib watched at the vortian scrambled away, his little… hooves, Dib wanted to say, thumping hard and fast against the carpet as he ran. “Bye, then.” 

Dib shook his head, watching as the vortian ran off. He considered being nervous; maybe this person was a member of the authorities. But, as far as he knew, only irkens worked for the Empire’s police force, and vortians were all either enslaved, in prison, or on the lamb from said authorities. The vortian’s spastic behavior was a little unsettling, but, from what Dib had seen in almost four years of space travel… most of them were just kind of like that. 

He bent over and picked up the newspaper that the vortian had dropped in his haste to run away. He realized it was an issue of one of Vort’s smaller, more independent newspapers. The front-page article was some kind of opinion piece, warning of an inevitable invasion from the Empire. Huh. It was from before Operation Impending Doom Two, then. Intrigued, Dib skimmed the article, then flipped through the paper a little. As he thumbed through the pages, a flyer fell to the ground. Dib returned the newspaper to its shelf and reached down, skimming over the flyer. It wasn’t really an advertisement, more like just an information sheet, outlining the strength and size of a group of revolutionaries called The Resisty. 

Dib stowed the flyer in his backpack. He realized that he’d been sidetracked and had more important things to worry about than some weird vortian who, for all Dib knew, was just wearing jewelry and talking aloud to himself. He checked his tablet again and walked off in the other direction. 

 

According to the _Vortian Times_ , Operation Impending Doom One had been a spectacular failure. The article said that a hijacked Frontline Battle Mech had caused chaos that had swept almost the entirety of Irk, including blackouts and the destruction of entire cities. The article Dib was reading was an update on the story, breaking the news that the Mech had been stolen by one of Irk’s own soldiers, a recently-appointed Invader named Zim, who had been banished to Foodcourtia for his actions.

Dib sat back in his chair. The newspaper fell into his lap. He didn’t do anything for a few minutes, processing what he’d just learned.

Destroyed cities. Blackouts. Mass murder. A failed invasion operation. All because of Zim.

Zim was a traitor to his own planet. He wasn’t just short… he was a war criminal. He _actually was_ a war criminal.

Which meant that he was by no means the person Dib had thought he was when they’d met. He wasn’t some damsel in need of saving — he’d gotten himself sent to Foodcourtia, and he had deserved to be there. And all that meant was that Dib was no hero, just a fool caught on the wrong side. Dib buried his face in his hands and cried more, not caring that he was probably making everyone around him uncomfortable, not caring that he was being loud and embarrassing. All he’d wanted was to help. He was such an idiot. 

While Dib sat there, tears running down his face, all of the pieces fell back into place. To be sure, though, he did another keyword search and found that the same Vortian newspaper had covered the deaths of two Tallests, Miyuki and Spork, who had been killed by a rampaging energy-sucking creature. Further research confirmed that the creature had been made in a Vortian lab by an Irken scientist named Zim. Dib read Zim’s name, over and over again, until his vision went blurry. Despite the fact that he’d planned on being at Libraria for at least another day or two, he gathered himself back up, got to his ship, and left. 

 

He didn’t know where he was going, and he wasn’t in the right mind to drive, so he docked on one of Libraria’s moons and got into bed. He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, finally letting himself think back over every lie Zim had told him.

He’d lied about the wormhole. He’d lied about why they needed to go to Cyberflox. He’d lied about why he’d installed the video transmitter into Dib’s ship: it hadn’t been to contact the Tallest, but to make plans with Fitzoo-Menga, probably while Dib was sleeping. He’d lied about knowing Tallests that had been killed, and neglected to mention that he was responsible for the death of two of them. He’d lied for months, and Dib had just… let it happen, knowing that Zim wasn’t being truthful but too enamored with the idea of having a partner — of having Zim — to care. 

As Dib lay in his bed, that familiar crushing loneliness hit him, all at once. He’d learned to just ride it out, to wait until the numbness set in. He cried again, but only a little, and mostly wondered how, in all his years of solitude, he’d been so blind to his own feelings that he hadn’t realized just how lonely he was until after Zim had come and gone. Really, was he that out of touch with his own emotions that he couldn’t tell how miserable he had been? And was he so stupid that he’d just let Zim come waltzing into his life and take advantage of that? 

It didn’t matter anymore. He tried, for the hundredth time, to convince himself that he was lucky to finally be rid of Zim. Zim, the liar, who, Dib thought, had probably even lied about loving him. At this realization, Dib choked on a sob, then rolled onto his side and let the new wave of sorrow hit him, and he cried harder than he had since the day Zim had left. Because, so what if Zim had lied about being in love with Dib? So what if the things he’d said on the day of that horrible fight had been more true than the confession of love from the night before? It didn’t change anything. Didn’t change the fact that Dib had loved Zim, still loved him, with everything he had left in him. 

 

**iii.**

A few weeks after leaving Libraria, Dib went to Dirt. 

Maybe it was because he was a huge masochist, or maybe it was because he’d been on this kick of finding answers and really, finally, putting all the pieces together. Whatever the reason, Dib found himself on Dirt, in the middle of the night, parked outside a crappy apartment complex and knocking on one of its ground floor windows. 

Tak appeared a few moments later, wearing the same outfit Dib had seen her in the last time. When she saw Dib, her face scrunched up with rage, then settled into something more neutral. She climbed onto her table and opened the window, gesturing for Dib to come inside. Awkwardly, he climbed over onto the table and walked into the middle of the foyer, standing where he’d been lying the last time he’d been here. He looked around, feeling self-conscious. Tak closed the window and looked down at him, her arms crossed, still standing on the table.

“Um,” said Dib. “Hi.”

Tak gave him a bland look. “Hi.” 

“I, um… I’m glad to see that you’re okay,” said Dib lamely. “Uh, sorry for, um, you know. Before.”

“Your Zim’s little pet, aren’t you?” asked Tak. “What did he send you here for? What does he want?” 

“I’m not…” Dib stammered for a second, then looked up at Tak. “I’m not with Zim anymore. He, uh, left.”

At that, Tak smiled. Her grin was creepy, and a little sadistic.

“Did he, now? So that’s what you are, then? Another mess he left behind?” 

Dib gritted his teeth. He didn’t say anything.

“Oh, what?” asked Tak.

Dib looked away, trying not to cry again. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to control himself. When he looked back at Tak, at that mean look on her face, he couldn’t help himself, and he felt a few tears spill out. 

Tak’s expression changed to confusion, and she hopped off her table. She walked up to Dib, so close that they were almost touching, and cocked her head to the side. She stared hard at his face.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she said. 

 

Dib sat at the table, staring at a plate of cookies that Tak had set out. After a few more minutes of waiting, Tak finally placed a mug of tea in front of him. She sat down across from him, holding her own tea. They stared at each other in silence for a full minute.

“The tea’s hot,” said Tak, pointing to the steam coming off Dib’s mug.

“Thanks,” said Dib.

More silence.

“I really am, um, sorry,” said Dib. “About what happened last time we were here. I brought back your med bag, too, it’s in my ship if—”

“Keep it,” said Tak. “I got a new one.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They stared at each other awkwardly. Finally, Tak cleared her throat.

“So,” she said, “what happened?”

Dib cleared his throat, trying to think about what he was willing to share. Really, he’d just come here to see if Tak was even alive. He was happy that she was, but… he hadn’t really planned on having a heart-to-heart with her. 

“He left,” said Dib. “We got in a really big fight, and he just… he left while I was sleeping. I don’t know where he is.” 

Tak hummed and pushed the cookie plate at Dib. Dib just shook his head. 

“What did you fight about?” she asked.

“He lied to me,” said Dib. 

Tak barked out a laugh.

“Of course he did!” 

Dib bristled.

“Well, I didn’t _know_ —” he started.

“So, what? He lied to you, you fought about it, and he took off somewhere?” asked Tak.

“…Yeah,” said Dib, looking down at his mug of tea.  


“Hm. What was the lie?”

“Well,” said Dib, “there were a lot of them. The big one was that, well, he said we needed to go somewhere to get something, but, really, we were going there for this whole other reason, and I… I…” Dib felt himself choke up again. 

Tak awkwardly shoved the cookie plate right under his nose, a pained expression on her face. It actually made Dib laugh a little. Tak laughed too, forcing a chuckle and looking around like she wasn’t sure what she was doing. The laughter died down and they stared at each other.

“So, you brought him somewhere in your ship?” asked Tak, putting the cookies back on the table. “And then he got what he needed and left, is that what you’re saying?” 

Dib swallowed.

“Yeah.”

Tak took a dainty sip of her tea, her gloved claws tapping loudly against the dining table.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

Dib sighed, looking back down at his own tea. Like most things on planet Dirt, it was brown. He played with his teabag a little, dipping it and extracting it from the water, thinking about how Tak had framed the situation.

“Do you think so?” whispered Dib. “That’s normal for him?” 

Tak sighed, and Dib looked up to meet her gaze. 

“Did Zim ever tell you about how I got banished here?” 

Dib shook his head no. Tak sighed again.

“I was a soldier. I was training on Devastis, taking tests and going up in rank, higher and higher every year. During one of my tests, Zim did something stupid and caused a blackout, so bad that it affected half the planet.

“Because of the blackout, I automatically failed. I was trapped in my training cell for days. Then, when I got out, I wasn’t allowed to retake it, and I was sent here for janitorial duty until I could retake the test. Of course, I escaped, and when I found out Zim was on Foodcourtia, I had to find him and take him out. Thinking back, I know it was stupid, but I was so… angry, I just had to do it.

“So, we fought. I almost killed him, he got my SIR unit, Mimi, destroyed, and I was sent back here, permanently.”

Dib stared at Tak, not sure what to say.

He went with: “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tak. “It really sucks. Now, I’m here forever.” 

Dib looked at her, thinking about what he knew about Tak. In a previous life, she was a trained soldier, almost an elite. Now, she was a janitor.

“Why not just finish your stuff here, then leave?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too insensitive. “Why did you have to go after Zim?”

“Because,” said Tak, exasperated, “well… it’s kind of complicated. Do you know what a smeetery is?” 

“Yeah. Where irkens are born.”

“Where we _hatch_ , but, essentially, yes,” said Tak. “The smeetery I was born in was designated to make soldiers. It was not made to design the more, eh… expendable kind of irken. _My_ smeetery was made to create the elites, which it did. It also fitted us for the appropriate PAKs.”

Dib listened, not saying anything. 

“So, well, some of us just aren’t _made_ to be drones. Our PAKs aren’t programmed for us to do menial labor all day.”

“So you got here,” began Dib, “and your PAK made you go crazy?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my PAK!” snapped Tak, and Dib put his hands up in surrender. She took a breath and calmed herself. “But, yes, essentially… that’s what happened. I wasn’t doing what I was programmed for, and it, well… it made me very… _interested_ in the idea of getting revenge on the person who was at fault. Zim.” 

She said Zim’s name like it nauseated her just to think about him. Dib figured it probably did.

“What about Zim?” he asked. 

“What about him?” asked Tak. 

“Where was he hatched?”  


“The same smeetery as me,” said Tak, and Dib gave a thoughtful hum. Tak glared.

“That’s not an excuse,” she said. “That doesn’t excuse anything he did.”

“I know,” said Dib.

“And his time of Foodcourtia has nothing to do with what he did beforehand. He still got himself sent there for what he did in OID One.”

“I know, I know,” said Dib. “I just—”

“I’m sorry, did you come to my home to defend him to me? Is that why you’re here?” shrieked Tak. “I thought you were here because you were trying to find someone who hated him as much as you did?”

“Jeez, sorry!” retorted Dib. “I just— I’m not— obviously, I… I’m just going through a hard time right now, okay?!” 

Dib knew Tak was right. He shouldn’t be trying to rationalize Zim’s actions. He was just confused, is all, and upset. He felt the tears well up again.

The plate of cookies was back under his nose. He pushed them away.

“Just eat the fucking cookies!” snapped Tak.

“Fine!”

The first cookie was actually pretty tasty, so he had a second. Tak, satisfied, put the plate back on the table.

“I just… I’m just realizing how much I didn’t notice,” he said quietly. “There was a lot of stuff that I didn’t want to see, and I just… I was wrong, too, you know?” 

Tak just looked at him, confused.

“Who cares?” she asked. “Zim’s crazy. He’s messed up. He’s a defective. He manipulated you and used you until he got what he wanted, and then he left. That’s what Zim does. Anything else that you thought was going on, just… wasn’t. Don’t worry about what you might have done to him. If you, in any way, made _his_ life harder…”

Tak raised her mug.

“… cheers.” 

Dib looked at her, realizing that, in a way, Tak was right. Zim _had_ betrayed him. He’d lied and manipulated and stolen from him. Maybe Dib had done some things wrong, but, yeah, who cares? He wasn’t as bad as Zim. No one was.

“Cheers,” he said, and they clinked their mugs and took long sips of tea. When they were finished, they looked at each other, little smiles on their faces. 

“Once you’re done with that,” said Tak, still smiling, “get out of my home.” 

 

**iv.**

Two months after Zim left, Dib was starting to wonder if things were going to start to get better. After Dirt, he actually did go to Arcadikon, but he was only there for half a day before leaving, feeling sad and pathetic and, really, missing Gaz. He hated how, when he wasn’t thinking about Zim, he was thinking about Earth. He didn’t think about Earth often, though, because, most often, he was thinking about Zim.

Not long after he left Arcadikon, Dib found himself on Mechanicon 4, one of a handful of planets that serviced ships and sold parts. Dib realized that this would have been the place to get an SF-Drive if they’d actually done it the legal way, and it was in the Omega Sector, close enough that Dib could see Foodcourtia’s star from his hotel room. Whatever. 

He’d come there because, actually, Zim had been right. His ship hadn’t been made for an SF-Drive, and, the more he used the drive, the more _The Mothman_ fell apart. Just two months after the drive had been installed, its use had taken a toll pretty quickly. He’d gotten to Mechanicon 4 as his ship was falling apart. 

 

On his first day on Mechanicon 4, one of the mechanics he’d met had offered to take him for a drink. Dib had accepted, and they got a few beers and had a decently good time until Dib had one too many and started crying in the middle of the bar. The next day, he’d apologized profusely and promised it would never happen again, and the mechanic was cool about it, but he didn’t invite Dib out for drinks again. But Dib kept going to the bar, alone, because the beer was cheap and they sold Vort Dogs. He spent his evenings there, not really getting any enjoyment out of the experience, but because, at least here, he wasn’t crushed under the weight of his own loneliness. And, if he got a good enough buzz going, he could sometimes, for a minute or two, forget about Zim. 

The more he thought about what Tak said, the more he realized that Zim really _had_ tricked him, with everything, the whole time. Zim had never loved him. Zim probably wasn’t even attracted to him, he just had needed Dib for his ship and was willing to make a few sacrifices in order to keep Dib from getting suspicious. 

Even if Zim had wanted to have sex with Dib, there was no way it had been as emotional experience for him as it had been for Dib. Dib had opened himself up to Zim — it wasn’t like what they had done was meaningless. It wasn’t just about feeling good, at least not for Dib. It was supposed to be intimate, and emotional, and, a lot of the time, it felt like it was. But had it been for Zim? Or was it all just lies?

The more he thought about it, the more Dib realized that Zim really was an irken. Dib had been stupid enough to think that Zim was different, that he was capable of being tender, but he wasn’t. He was from a race that took what it wanted, the pillaged and destroyed and conquered. And Dib had opened his legs, had let himself be conquered, on his back, on his belly, on his hands and knees, over and over again. Thinking about it made him flush with embarrassment and shame. It also made him want to wring Zim’s neck. Who was Zim to treat Dib like he meant nothing? Who did Zim think he was, just taking everything from Dib and then leaving him behind, leaving him alone, with nothing but a stupid note? 

Dib clenched his fists when he thought about that note. He hated that he still had it, months after Zim had left it. He hated that he couldn’t throw it away because he felt sorry for it, a piece of fucking paper, yeah, but it was still something of Zim’s that had been left behind. Discarded. And if Dib threw it in the garbage, that would mean that it was worthless, too. Which it wasn’t. And Dib was desperate to prove to himself that he wasn’t worthless, either. 

Just because Zim had thrown him away, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t worth something. Right? Really, if anything, it made Zim look bad. Because Dib had done so much for Zim, he’d given everything to Zim, and Zim couldn’t even have the decency to love him for it. 

At least, Dib wasn’t sure Zim had loved him. He had said, “I love you,” once, but then he had denied it. He had done horrible, heartbreaking things to Dib. So, maybe it really had all been fake. Maybe Dib was just making the same mistakes he’d made as a kid, with his first crush: thinking he was in a relationship but not knowing for sure, only to have the whole thing blow up in his face. Maybe he was doing exactly what his father had said about paranormal investigating: seeing things that weren’t there, and chasing things that weren’t real. 

But, even so…

There was proof.

Proof that Zim had felt _something_ for Dib. Because if he hadn’t, why had he kept Dib alive? Zim could have killed him the second they left Foodcourtia, and he would have been fine. It wasn’t like he needed Dib to keep the ship running; Zim was a skilled enough pilot that he’d figured _The Mothman_ out almost immediately. Zim had never really _needed_ Dib, and they both knew it, so, what was the deal? Was Zim just lonely, too?

Maybe. Maybe that was why Zim had made all that medicine for Dib. Had he anticipated Dib getting hurt? Had he wanted to have something for Dib in case he did? That stuff that Zim had used to heal him after their adventure on Dirt... Zim had to have put _some_ effort into those mixtures. Not just to keep him alive, like the healing serum, but to keep him comfortable, too, like the nausea medication and the numbing agent. 

Dib also knew that Zim had found him interesting: he had listened to Dib talk for hundreds, maybe thousands of hours about his favorite things. He’d asked questions and been engaged. No one ever listened to Dib as much as Zim had, so, really, was it fair to say that Zim hadn’t cared about him, even a little? 

And then there were the pictures. After Zim left, Dib found his camera stashed away in the storage closet. And Dib had just been in there earlier to grab a candy bar, so he knew that Zim had put it there right before his departure. He was surprised to find that his camera was full of pictures: some were the ones he’d taken before meeting Zim, and there were a couple of the gormagander, but most of them were of him. He learned that, in their three months together, Zim had become a kind of clandestine paparazzo, snapping pictures of Dib doing nothing at all: eating a granola bar, watching TV, shaving, or working on his map or some other project. Most of the pictures were of him sleeping, and almost all of them had been downloaded to _The Mothman_ ’s main computer and transferred to a personal drive that Dib had to imagine was Zim’s tablet.

After Zim left, Dib turned his ship upside down, looking through drawers and under his bed and in every hidden compartment. Maybe Zim just liked comfortable clothing. But, if Zim was planning on growing enough to be taller than the Tallest, why had he taken Dib's sweatshirt with him? 

There was nothing forcing Zim to ask Dib to come with him to Irk. But, he had. And he’d been so happy when Dib said yes. 

 

So, Dib oscillated between two theories about Zim: the first being that Zim had never cared about him, and the second being that he had. Each train of thought was equally as painful as the other, but for different reasons, and Dib had a hard time keeping his head above water if he thought about either too much. So, he went to the bar and drank until his brain got fuzzy and he could just stop agonizing over every single detail, every single second he had spent with Zim.

He also had a hard time deciding whose fault it was. He took Tak’s words into consideration, and, for a little while, they had helped. He liked thinking the way Tak did: that Zim was a menace, a monster, and that he deserved all of the pain that Dib had caused him. But, Dib wasn’t so sure. And, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he had done to Zim was nothing to be proud of.

Looking back, he knew that his feelings for Zim were nothing short of obsessive. And, he knew he’d acted selfishly. He had decided that he and Zim were supposed to be together, that they were supposed to have this passionate, intense romance, and he hadn’t even bothered to see if Zim had wanted that, too. Zim’s words from that horrible fight echoed in his head at random times during the day, the “you made me,” and, especially, the “you’re killing me.” He heard Zim screaming that at least ten times a day, out of nowhere, startling him and derailing whatever he was doing at the time. 

He didn’t think he’d made Zim do anything. But, he also couldn’t say that he hadn’t pressured Zim, at least at first, into doing things that he clearly wasn’t comfortable with. They’d talked about it, once, and Zim had warned Dib about what happened when an irken rebelled against their PAK. But, Dib had been arrogant, had thought that he knew better, and he’d ignored Zim’s warning. Because, for some stupid reason, he thought he could handle it. When he considered that, he felt more sorry for Zim than he did for himself. 

No matter how he looked at it, though, he knew that it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like he would be able to ever apologize for what he’d done, or elicit an apology from Zim. He’d realized that just a day or two after Zim had left. Their time together was over, forever.

Because, wherever Zim was right now, he was probably dead.

 

**v.**

The mechanics on Mechanicon 4 were skilled, and they found Dib’s ship fascinating, so many of them were eager to help. They’d combined technologies from different planets to make _The Mothman_ sleeker and more energy-efficient, and Dib, in the time that he was waiting for parts, had updated some of his appliances and even replaced the pilot’s seat with one that was more comfortable, made of soft leather and with excellent lumbar support. 

The co-pilot’s seat was in pieces, part of it still attached to the floor of _The Mothman_ , and another part of it stored away below deck. Dib hadn’t bothered fixing it, since he probably wouldn’t need it anymore. He didn't even know why he'd installed it in the first place. 

Dib and his new mechanic friends had fixed his ship up in just under a week and, two months and five days after Zim had left, Dib was right back where he had started: sitting in a restaurant, eating Vort Dogs, and trying to figure out where to go next. This time, though, he was also on his third beer, and he was too dehydrated to feel anything but headachy and grumpy. He was about to order another plate of Vort Dogs when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he realized that he was being watched. When he turned around, there was an irken, sitting at a booth, alone, staring at him.

“Do you want something?” snapped Dib. 

The irken jumped, then trotted over to where Dib was sitting at the bar.

“Hello,” he said nervously.

Dib sized him up. Short. Not as short as Zim. Dib shook his head, internally scolding himself for not being able to go one freaking second without thinking about Zim.

Anyway. Short. Wide. Wearing an Invader’s uniform. The tunic was covered in stains. The pants were pink. He looked nervously at Dib, who realized that he was glaring. Dib sighed, trying to relax his face and not look like a total asshole.

“Hi,” said Dib.

“Um… do you frequent this establishment?” asked the irken, clasping his hands together under his chin.

Dib narrowed his eyes.

“Are you hitting on me?” he asked.

The irken winced and took a step back from Dib, his clasped hands clenching hard.

“Nope! Definitely not!” he squeaked, and Dib realized he was glaring again.

“It’s, um…” he looked at the irken, suddenly feeling a rush of sympathy for the little guy, “it’s fine if you are. I’m just, uh, I’m not really dating right now.” 

“Well, that’s a relief!” said the irken, and he winced again. “I mean, it’s, um… it’s fine. It’s not good or bad. I’m neutral about it. Wait… ah, sorry!”

Dib stared. 

“What.” 

“I mean, I wasn’t supposed to… I just got a little mixed up. Sorry,” said the irken. 

“Are you feeling okay?” asked Dib. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I… okay, sure.” 

The irken plopped down on the seat next to Dib, and Dib noticed that he had that same thing stuck to the side of his head that that vortian from Libraria was wearing. Dib felt his heartbeat pick up.

“So, um. What’s your name?” asked Dib.

“My name?” asked the irken. “Oh. Skoodge. Invader Skoodge, actually… ugh! Sorry! Just Skoodge.”

“Oh,” said Dib. “Why the uniform, then?”

“I just like it!” blurted Skoodge.

“Okay,” said Dib. “Um, so… Skoodge. What brings you here?”

“I’m just visiting!” said Skoodge, still talking too loudly.

Dib considered this. This “Skoodge” person was clearly being fed lines through that thing in his ear — Dib could hear the shrill barking of someone on the other line, even from where he was sitting. The more intriguing part was just how… bad he was at whatever he was doing. It was possible that Skoodge was a police officer, undercover and looking for Dib. Dib _had_ freed an exile from Foodcourtia, and, with his luck, he wasn’t really surprised that that was coming back to bite him in the ass when Zim was dead and therefore, technically, off the hook. 

Dib was too tired to argue with this guy, who must be a trainee or something. Might as well just come quietly and get it over with.

“Look, if you’re here to arrest me, it’s fine, you can just… stop with the act, or whatever.”

The irken looked at him in absolute shock, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.

“I… what?” asked Skoodge.

“You seem like you’re trying really hard, but, I gotta tell you, you’re a really bad undercover cop. Like, I could tell right away.”

“You… _what_?”

Dib sighed, exasperated.

“Look, if you’re going to arrest me for what happened on Foodcourtia, just do it. I don’t need this rigmarole first. Let’s just get it over with.”

Skoodge stared at him, then jumped when the tiny voice coming from his earpiece started screaming at him, so loudly that Dib could almost understand the words. An annoying little voice in the back of his mind said that Skoodge’s coworker sounded like Zim, but he brushed it off.

“I’m not here to arrest you,” said Skoodge finally. “I’m just wondering if you’re going to be here for much longer, or what?”

Dib sighed.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Okay, cool,” said Skoodge.

“So, you can arrest me then.”

“I’m not going to arrest you!” 

“Then why did you come and talk to me?” asked Dib. 

“I… um… _did_ want to ask you out?” 

A tinny scream came from Skoodge’s earpiece. He winced.

“But I don’t anymore. I have no interest in you… Not that you’re not interesting! And, uh, attractive… okay, okay…” Skoodge paused and turned away.

Dib could still hear him from where he was sitting, though, as the irken whispered harshly to his associate: “Look, I’m just trying to get the intel, like you told me to, can you please just—”

Another pause. Skoodge turned and looked at Dib, his face bright and flushed. Dib just shook his head, too tired to really care about this weird-ass conversation.

“Okay. Cool. See you tomorrow,” said Dib.  


“Uh huh. See you tomorrow,” said Skoodge, and he hightailed it out of the bar at top speed. 

 

The next day, _The Mothman_ was packed and ready to go, and Dib was at the bar, again, nursing a hangover and eating Vort Dogs. 

That was how Zim found him: sitting with his elbows on the bar and his face in his hands, his hair long and shaggy, his beard scraggly and unkempt. 

He recognized Zim before he even had to look up: the irken’s stride was so ingrained in Dib’s head that he knew, right away, whose boots were marching toward him. He looked up, though, to be sure, and there he was. Standing next to him, no longer in his Invader’s uniform, but in a pearlescent white tunic that went down to his knees and had slits up to both hips. The tunic had long sleeves and a high collar, and was more form-fitting than his old attire. He had on the same black gloves, but a pair of leggings similar to the tunic and tall grey boots. 

A stark contrast to what Dib was wearing: black pants, the trench coat Zim had given him, a black t-shirt, and his old steel-toed boots. 

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Dib,” said Zim, quietly.

“Zim,” said Dib, leaning back from the bar to size Zim up, “you’re looking tall.” 


	13. Returnening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do I dare disturb the universe?” — T.S. Eliot

**i.**

Zim was not looking tall. Maybe he had grown, but not by much. He could have gained, at most, a couple of donuts, but, still, he wasn’t nearly as tall as the Tallest. In fact, Dib wasn’t even sure he was taller than Skoodge, the irken he had met yesterday. Zim looked down at himself, self-conscious, and brushed at his tunic. He looked back up at Dib. 

“Eh,” he said, “yes. Um…”

He drifted off, then looked around him. He stepped to the side, gesturing behind him and revealing another irken that Dib hadn’t even noticed.

“This is Tenn,” Zim said. 

Tenn was wearing the same clothes as Zim, and, Dib had to admit it, she was really pretty. She was small, with a narrow frame, but Dib could see in her legs and upper arms that she was well-muscled. She looked like Zim, but softer, with more roundness to her face and less sharpness in her elbows and knees. She was taller than Zim, too, with big, bubblegum-pink eyes and high, wide cheekbones. She had those big, pointy lashes that some female irkens had — not made of hair, like Dib’s eyelashes, but something else. Dib realized that he actually wasn’t sure what irken eyelashes were made of; he’d never thought about it before, since Zim didn’t have any. Her right antenna was long and curly, while the left one was short, and it looked damaged at the end, like it had been burned. Dib didn’t even realize that he was staring at it until she reached up and nervously brushed her fingers against its uneven end. She blinked at Dib and offered her hand.

“Hello, human Dib,” she said, her voice calm and sweet. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Dib looked from Tenn to Zim, which was a mistake, because every time he looked at Zim he was overwhelmed by how happy he was to see Zim alive, in front of him, looking at him. Seeing Zim was like being hit with a wave of cool water, refreshing and invigorating. He wanted to jump into Zim’s arms and kiss him senseless. 

But, he couldn’t.

Just because Zim was alive, it didn’t mean that he didn’t still owe Dib an explanation. It didn’t mean that Dib wasn’t still heartbroken. Finding Dib here didn’t rectify the fact that Zim was the whole reason they’d gone their separate ways. And Dib wasn’t ready to move past the rawness that he still felt, months after their separation. He was the one who had left Dib. And it just made Dib angry to see him, waltzing into Dib’s designated misery bar, looking unfairly attractive and with a pretty girl named Tenn in tow. 

Dib looked back at Tenn. Her hand was still out toward him, but she was nervously peeking over at Zim. Dib pursed his lips as a heartbreaking thought entered his mind. Were they… together? Was that what this was? Had Zim found someone else, that quickly, and now he was back to rub Dib’s face in it? He looked at Zim and raised his eyebrows. 

“Really?” he asked.

Zim just blinked innocently.

“What?” 

“You’re just going to come walking in here, with a new girlfriend—”

“G-girlfriend? Dib, no—”

“—and just pretend like everything’s fine?”

“Dib— Dib, I’m not—” Zim stammered, thrown off by Dib’s hostility.

Tenn spoke, quietly, “What’s a ‘girlfriend’?”

“Fuck off,” grunted Dib, pushing between Zim and Tenn and walking out the door.

Dib groaned when he got outside, shielding his eyes from Mechanicon 4’s two bright, yellow suns. He put his head down and kept walking, annoyed but also weirdly satisfied at the sound of Zim shouting after him.

“Dib, stop! Please, just stop for one second.”

Dib kept going, hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat, stomping back down the metal sidewalk (everything here was made of metal — rusty and stinky and unyielding) toward his hotel. He felt the tears coming, again, but he couldn’t decide what they were for. Happiness, because Zim had survived and come to find him? Spite, because Zim had consumed his growth drink and survived it, despite Dib’s warnings on the contrary? Dismay at Zim’s new friend Tenn, who was irken and pretty and probably not a total mess? Agony, still, at being left behind?

He stopped at the feeling of Zim’s hand on his shoulder, at the sound of Zim, out of breath, saying his name. 

“Dib. Please.”

Dib turned around, caught Zim’s eye, and did his best to push down the pure joy he was experiencing just at the feeling of Zim touching him again. That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed to be so glad to see Zim. He swallowed.

He'd spent so long convincing himself that Zim was dead, he actually didn't know how to react, now that he knew Zim was alive.

He realized, as they stood next to each other, that Zim _had_ grown, just a tiny bit, so that he almost came to Dib’s shoulder. It made Dib angry all over again. 

“I’m sorry,” said Zim. 

Dib didn’t want to start crying in front of Zim again. He didn’t want to be the weak one, the one that needed attention and validation from the other. He was done with that. He turned away. 

“Dib!” 

Zim grabbed for him again, taking his arm and yanking his hand from his pocket. Between them, the note that Dib had been clutching, scribbled in black ink on a piece of his old notebook paper, fell to the ground. Zim hastily reached for it, recognized it, and then shoved it back at Dib. Embarrassed, Dib grabbed it and turned away.

Zim’s gentle hand was on his arm again, and he gritted his teeth against the resulting swell of emotion. He couldn’t look at Zim, couldn’t handle all the intense and conflicting feelings that were fighting for dominance. This was too confusing. With Zim’s hand still on his elbow, Dib took a few deep breaths, gathered himself, and, after some thought, decided which emotion was going to win in this battle royale going on in his body. 

He didn’t want to get hurt again. He didn’t want to take anymore stupid risks. He didn’t want to have to apologize for what he’d done. 

Finally, he turned to look at Zim. He ripped his arm from Zim’s grip and stared down with as much coldness as he could muster.

“Why are you here?” he asked. 

Zim looked down again, picking at the hem of his tunic. While he was looking away, Dib noticed the pinks and blues of Zim’s outfit that shined bright in the sun. He noted the smooth curve of his shoulder, no longer obscured by the pointy sleeve of his Invader’s uniform. He noticed Zim’s neck, bound by the tight turtleneck of his new tunic, still as elegant and enticing as Dib remembered.

After a moment, Zim looked back up at Dib, those big, wide eyes bright and glittering in the light of Mechanicon 4’s sun. Dib schooled his features again, reminding himself that he didn’t care.

“Can we go somewhere?” asked Zim. 

Dib thought on this for only a second and then sighed.

“Fine.”

 

**ii.**

It was kind of satisfying that Dib knew more about Mechanicon 4 than Zim did. Even though he’d only been there a handful of days, he had a basic understanding of the city he was staying in, and he led Zim to a dark, dirty little pub where he’d had dinner once. Zim, clearly uncomfortable, settled into the corner booth that Dib had led him to. Dib sat across from him and waited. 

A service drone, tiny and irken, tossed a couple of menus at them. Dib ordered water and a coffee. Zim ordered a soda. 

They said nothing while they waited. Their drinks came.

“Tenn and I are not… romantically involved,” said Zim, finally, as he fiddled with the tab on his can before finally popping it.

Dib took a sip of his coffee and didn’t meet Zim’s gaze.

“Whatever.” 

He could feel Zim’s eyes, boring into his skull. He kept his head down and tapped his fingers against his mug.

“Dib?” 

Dib didn’t look up. 

“How did you find me?” he asked.

Zim cleared his throat.

“One of my associates saw you on Libraria. We tracked you from there.”

The vortian. Dib said nothing.

“I saw that you went to Arcadikon,” said Zim. “Did you like it?” 

“If you saw that I went to Arcadikon,” said Dib, still not looking up, “you saw that I wasn’t even there a whole day. So, it should be obvious that I didn’t like it.”

Zim gave a nervous giggle. Dib glared at his mug.

“Dib, I—”

At the sound of his name, Dib took a long sip of his water. He gripped the table with one hand, suddenly feeling very hot and confined in this tiny booth.

“Will you please just look at me for one second?” whispered Zim.

Dib looked up. He knew he looked like shit, and he knew that Zim looked amazing, and the whole situation was making him irritated. He wanted to rip Zim’s antennae out of his head as badly as he wanted to crawl into Zim’s lap. 

“Your growth drink worked,” he said, his voice flat.

Zim looked away, his face flushed.

“Not as well as I had hoped,” he said.

“Yeah,” snorted Dib, “I can see that.” 

Zim’s antennae lay flat on his skull, but he didn’t look angry, he just looked sad. 

“At least it didn’t kill you,” said Dib.

There was a tense pause. Zim pursed his lips and looked at his soda, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he looked back at Dib.

“It almost did.” 

Dib looked up, surprised.

“What happened?” he asked, reaching for Zim’s hand, then pulling back at the last second. He glared at the table, trying to ignore how hot his face felt. 

Zim didn’t say anything, just fixed Dib with a curious look. When Dib finally rearranged his face into an expression of apathy and then looked back up, Zim sighed. 

“After we fought…” he began, then paused, as if waiting to see if Dib had a reaction. Dib held it in. “… I dropped myself off on a moon that was orbiting around the planet Meekrob. I… I didn’t know where I was going, but the moon had a station, so I just… I decided I would take the serum and then go there and then… be recognized. And then someone would take me to Irk to be crowned.”

Zim paused and looked away from Dib. Dib, unable to help his curiosity, stared at Zim, waiting for him to continue. When he did, he spoke to his soda can. 

“I drank it. All of it. And it almost killed me. If… if the Meekrob hadn’t sensed the agony I was in, I would have died.” 

Dib didn’t say anything, a bit caught up in realizing just how little he knew about the Meekrob. Zim cleared his throat.

“The Meekrob are empaths. They can sense when someone is in pain.”

On _The Mothman_ , Dib used to like when Zim read his mind. He relished in how well they knew each other, how close they were. Now, it just pissed him off. 

Dib couldn’t help himself. “Was it the gunpowder? Or the acid?”

Zim shook his head.

“Something else?”  


Zim gave a humorless chuckle.

“The humungoserum,” he said.

Dib felt his brow furrow. He kept looking at Zim, who was still looking down at his soda. 

“Apparently, the reason why it’s not illegal to consume is because it’s… well, it’s poison.”

Finally, Zim looked up.

“Just like you said.”

Dib felt a twist in his gut. He swallowed his pity, still schooling his features to keep himself from looking concerned. 

“Is that why it didn’t work?” asked Dib.

“It would have worked, had the Meekrob not flushed it from my system,” said Zim. “I imagine I would have been tall enough to rule at about the same time I would have died, if not after.” 

Dib thought about that. About Zim, a very tall corpse, finally getting what he wanted. He took a sip of his coffee, trying to think about something else.

“Did Virooz know?” he asked.

Zim shrugged. “Probably not. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care. He got what he wanted out of our deal. It doesn’t matter to him who’s Tallest, it’s not like he needs the… the connections…”

Zim’s voice cracked, and Dib felt a similar breaking sensation in his chest. But, he knew that Virooz was shady. He had warned Zim. He sat on his hands.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, Dib.”

Dib swallowed, not trusting himself to say anything.

“I didn’t… I shouldn’t have lied to you. I should have listened, I just… for so long, it was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind when I was on Foodcourtia. When I was… cooking food, or, or cleaning tables, or scrubbing toilets, I was thinking about being free, and then, being Tallest. I just… I wanted the power. I wanted revenge. I didn’t… I didn’t know what was going to happen, I wasn’t _planning_ on… on you— us…”

He looked up at Dib, who looked away. 

“Dib, I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, and Dib felt a quick rush of rage hit him all at once.

“You did hurt me,” he said, locking eyes with Zim. “You tried to kill me.” 

“I didn’t— it was my PAK, I wouldn’t— I couldn’t have—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” said Dib, and he felt emboldened by the pitiful look on Zim’s face. “You lied to me. For months. I tried to make you see reason and you went fucking berserk on me. Don’t tell me it’s your PAK’s fault. It’s _your_ fault.”

And mine, thought Dib, bitterly. He pushed the guilt away. 

“I know it is, Dib, I know!” said Zim, reaching for Dib and then hastily pulling away. “I didn’t mean—”

“You used me for my ship. I saved you from exile, and the first thing you did was lie to me.”

“I— Dib, please, just, I know I—”

“Tak told me what you did to her,” said Dib, his anger rising. “She told me you got her banished to Dirt.”

“I— wha— Tak?”

“And I know what you did in Operation Impending Doom One,” said Dib, his voice getting louder, his speech getting faster. “You stole a Battle Mech. You caused a blackout. You killed—”

“Dib, please—”

“You killed your people! And your Tallest! Two of them! I know all about it!” shouted Dib, and Zim sunk down in his chair as the patrons around them started to stare. 

“Please, just, lower your voice—?”

“You’re a criminal. And a murderer. You deserve to rot on Foodcourtia for the rest of your life.”

Dib was standing over Zim, who had made himself tiny in the seat of the booth. Zim stared up at him, shaking.

“Dib—”

“You lied to me.”

“I love you.” 

Dib looked away, swallowing at the sound of Zim’s voice shaking. “Stop.”

“I know I made mistakes, Dib, I didn’t… I didn’t see things the way I see them now. Please, I know I was wrong. I just wanted to make my Tallest happy. It was all I cared about. I’m sorry. It was wrong. I know it was wrong. I feel so… guilty about all of it, all of them. My Tallest. Tak. Everything.”

Dib’s glare was faltering, he knew, but if he let it go now, then he would cry, too. And then, it was just a matter of time before they were crashing back into each other, and Dib couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t handle it if it all went down in flames again.

“How do you see things now?” he asked.

Zim swallowed, sitting up a little in his booth as Dib sat back down. There was a tense pause. 

“After… after the Meekrob found me, they took me to their planet and… they saved my life. They healed me. I’m still not… all the way better, but, I’m getting there,” he looked at Dib like he was hoping for some kind of response. Dib looked away.

“Tenn was there. She was my friend in school, I… I told you about her. And she recognized me, and, well. We talked. She told me what happened to her. Dib, she was assigned to Meekrob for OID Two, and she accidentally got sent a batch of defective SIR units. They ruined her base, and she nearly died, and when she called the Tallest, they did nothing. They haven’t sent anyone to Meekrob since, and it’s… it’s been _years_. For all they care, she’s dead, or, worse, a prisoner there.”

Dib hummed. That sounded about right. He took another sip of his coffee and thought back to Tenn’s damaged antenna.

Zim went on: “She told me that the Meekrob took her in. They forgave her for trying to invade their planet, and they invited her to fight with them, against the Empire. All this time, she’s been working with them. They’re trying to liberate the other planets that Irk invaded. They’re trying to free them, all of them.”

Dib grunted and looked down at his hands. He thought of the Resisty flyer he’d found in that newspaper. For the past few years, he’d heard whispers about rebellion. He’d never been able to get much information about it, though, try as he might.

“She asked me to join them, and I said yes.”

What?

Dib couldn’t hide his shock. He didn’t know this Tenn person, and he had no interest in dwelling on her backstory. But, _Zim_? Defecting? Fighting against his Empire, his people?

He looked up at Zim, who was sitting a little taller in his seat, a small, proud smile on his face. He wasn’t sure what to say. Zim went on.

“The Meekrob are aligned with an underground resistance group comprised of beings from almost every planet that Irk has invaded. Our numbers are large. We have the intel, and the skills, and the power. We can beat them. We can free every planet under the Empire’s control.”

Dib was still dumbfounded. He stared at Zim, his jaw practically on the floor. He knew he was staring. He couldn’t help it. 

“We could take down the Control Brains. Irk would be free.”

The look on Zim’s face was so raw, so sincere, that Dib had half a mind to look away. He didn’t.

“What about the Tallest?” he asked.

Zim just shrugged. 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he said. “Whatever the Resisty wants to do with them. I don’t really care.” 

“Why would you do this?” asked Dib. “How— _why_?”

Zim looked down, and there was a long, uneasy silence.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” Zim said, his eyes getting wide and his hands, still on the soda can, starting to shake. 

“Afraid of what?” Dib whispered.

Zim glanced away, then put a hand to his mouth. He took a couple of deep breaths and looked back at Dib.

“I loved you so much, Dib. I still do. I wanted to be with you so, so badly. I just… I was so scared of, of them, and I—”

He shook his head, and Dib saw a couple of stray tears slide down his cheeks. 

“We could have figured it out,” said Dib. “You didn’t have to leave.”

“I would have killed you,” whispered Zim.

“You left me,” said Dib simply, and Zim’s eyes shined with grief.

“Dib—”

Dib stood up and slapped a few monies on the table for his coffee and Zim’s soda, both of which were barely touched. Zim jumped.

“You lied to me,” said Dib with a shrug, “and then you left.” 

He walked out. 

 

When he heard Zim calling after him, he started running. He wasn’t sure why he was going back in the direction they had come from, toward the bar, but he put his head down and kept going. He was still hungover, dehydrated, and in pretty bad shape, but he sprinted like his life depended on it. He heard Zim chasing behind him, but he didn’t care.

He couldn’t just turn around and talk to Zim after all of that, after everything he’d learned. He needed a second to think.

Zim abandoned Irk. He defected, whether officially or not, it didn’t matter. He was technically an exile, anyway. Now, he was fighting against Irk, working alongside a race that Irk had been at war with dozens of times before. The Meekrob. The enemy that Irk had never been able to conquer. 

Dib thought about Tenn. Had she been Irk’s last hope for invasion? And when that didn’t work out, had the Tallest just given up, left her there to rot? Probably, thought Dib. As far as the Tallest were concerned, even elites like Tenn were likely considered expendable. If she was dead, or a prisoner of war, or something even more terrible, the smeetery she came from could just make a new one. They could fit it with a new PAK, call it “Tenn,” and then send it off to another planet to invade. 

But, Tenn had survived. And she’d switched sides. Dib obviously didn’t know the details of her agreement with the Meekrob, but he had to imagine that she was a useful tool for them, with her knowledge of Irk and her Invader skills. And she’d found Zim, near dead and in need of a new plan, and she’d asked him to join her. And Zim had said yes. 

That was so like Zim: to jump for a new cause, a new group, because his last hope for ruling Irk was gone. Zim couldn’t just be on his own, figure out what to do for himself. If he wasn’t being told what to do, he couldn’t do anything. And, of course, Zim had to join the most volatile cause in the entire universe, because, despite his size, Zim never went small. 

Dib stopped running and put his hands on his knees. The bright suns above him hit the metal at his feet and made the whole planet boiling hot. Whose idea had it been to cover an already tropical planet with reflective fucking metal?

Dib looked down at his reflection in the rusty sidewalk. He really did not look great: his face was red and sweaty, his beard was a downright atrocity, and his hair was a mess on the top of his head. He wondered if his father had ever looked this unkempt. Probably not. He stared intently at his own face, hoping that this mirror-Dib would somehow be able to tell him what to do. His reflection panted hard and stared back at him. 

He wanted Zim back. There was no denying it. He hadn’t gotten over Zim, not in the slightest, and, now that Zim was here, in the same city as him, the idea of the two of them separating again was agonizing. But being with Zim would mean they would finally have to talk, about everything. Zim would have to come clean about everything he’d lied about. Dib would have to apologize.

Dib didn’t want to apologize. Thinking about asking for Zim’s forgiveness now, after everything Zim had put him through, felt like a joke. But, Dib had been wrong, too. Where did the blame lie, then? Fifty percent Zim’s fault and fifty percent Dib’s? Or was it more like sixty percent Zim's? Or seventy percent Dib's? Dib ran his fingers through his hair, wondering how exactly he could determine where the blame lay. For some reason, it felt really important. 

He thought about Zim’s new assignment, and how he’d joined with the Meekrob. They’d found him when he was weak and vulnerable, with nothing to lose. They’d given him a mission, and he’d accepted, probably very readily. And, maybe Dib was a little lost, too, and a little untethered from the universe around him. Maybe he could use a sense of purpose. Was that what Zim wanted, too? Purpose? A job to do that he believed in? Maybe Zim really did want to free Irk’s colonies. Maybe Dib did, too. But was Zim even offering that? Zim still hadn’t said what he’d wanted from Dib, but Dib had a sneaking feeling that, if Zim offered him a position with the Meekrob and their resistance force, he would probably say yes. 

With no real decisions made, Dib straightened up. He expected Zim to be right behind him, and he was a little surprised to see that he was alone. He looked back in the direction he’d come from just in time to see Zim crash to his hands and knees in the middle of the sidewalk.

The next thing he knew, he was crouched down in front of Zim, holding the irken’s face and then taking his hand. Zim looked up at him and blinked in surprise as Dib gently pulled off his gloves and used one to fan Zim’s sweaty, flushed face. They locked eyes and Dib realized how weird this must look, and he jerked a little and accidentally slapped Zim in the face with his own glove. Zim yelped in surprise.

“Sorry,” muttered Dib, dropping the glove to the ground. 

His hand was still cupping Zim’s cheek. He pulled it back and cleared his throat.

“It’s okay,” said Zim softly. “I, heh, I deserve that.” 

Zim giggled nervously, and one of his antennae twitched up. Dib just swallowed and looked away.

“You alright?” he asked. 

“Yes. I’m fine,” said Zim. “I just, uh, you know… this planet is so hot.” 

Dib knew Zim was lying. When they were running, Zim should have caught up with him almost immediately. And, it wasn’t like they’d run far. Dib was out of shape and breathing hard, but Zim looked like he’d just run a marathon, through the desert, dressed in all wool. Dib knew that if he ran a finger up one of Zim’s antennae, he’d feel a hard and fast pulse. He swallowed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. 

“Just…” Zim coughed. “It’s fine. Just from the, you know… the stuff. Messed me up a little. It’s fine.” 

Approximately two months and six days after Zim drank that growth serum, he was still sick from it. Dib shook his head, swallowing down the feelings of sympathy that were rising in his abdomen. He’d told Zim not to drink it. He wasn’t supposed to feel bad about this. He stood up and awkwardly put his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Zim collected his gloves. He stood up, his legs shaking, and Dib didn’t move away when Zim put a hand on his chest to balance himself. When he was on his feet and no longer shaking, Zim pulled his hand back, muttering an apology and looking at his feet. 

Dib accepted Zim’s apology with similar awkwardness. He hated this new dynamic between them. Despite himself, he longed for what they used to have: easy touches and relaxed conversations. Worse, he knew that they would probably never get that back.

It was probably better that way. Before, it had all been a lie. At least this was real. 

Dib looked down at the sidewalk, at the hazy reflection of the two of them, standing so close together. He tried to think of something to say, but he didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words. Dib didn’t really feel angry, or sad, or anything at all. He just felt tired.

“I love you, Dib,” said Zim quietly.

“Stop saying that,” Dib said, still staring at the ground. “I know you’re lying.” 

“I’m not lying,” said Zim, and Dib watched their reflections as Zim turned to look up at him. “You were right. I… I’m defective. I mean, that’s what I would be classified as. For whatever reason, I just… I couldn’t obey the PAK. I couldn’t just… comply, not like it wanted me to. And that was a good thing. Like you said. I see so much more clearly now, Dib, and, even then, I… I wanted to be able to have what humans have. I want to have the lazy mornings, and the… the sex, and… I want the companionship. _Your_ companionship. And that makes me defective. I’m okay with that. I was wrong, before. You were right. It’s a good thing.” 

Dib didn’t look up. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Another time, in another context he would have been thrilled to hear Zim talk like that. To hear him say that he was defective and okay with it. Not just okay with it… _happy_ with it. And hearing Zim tell Dib he was right was a rare and pleasing occurrence. But, still. Zim had done all this soul-searching away from Dib, and that made Dib all the more miserable. Why was Zim allowed to reach enlightenment during their separation when Dib had spent the past two months drowning? Why couldn’t they have figured this out together, instead of Dib on his own and Zim off with the Meekrob… with _Tenn_? 

Dib didn’t want all of these confusing feelings. He didn’t want to feel abandoned and betrayed anymore. No matter what Zim said, he wasn’t in charge anymore. Dib was. He looked at Zim.

“I don’t know,” said Dib slowly, “that I can believe you.”

Zim, who had been staring, hopeful, into Dib’s face, looked like his entire life had fallen apart, right in front of his eyes. 

They looked at each other, silent, for minutes. Neither spoke or even flinched as beings passed them on the busy sidewalk. Zim stared up at him, his jaw slack, his eyes big and sad. Dib didn’t think about how his own face looked, whether he had the appropriate expression of cool detachment. He just stared down at Zim, realizing that, no matter what Zim said, there was no guarantee that he was telling the truth. And Dib was a scientist. He needed evidence. And, Dib was a person. He was afraid of being deceived again. 

Finally, Dib spoke.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

Zim swallowed hard.

“I— I told you. On Meekrob.”

“The whole time?” asked Dib. 

“No. Not the whole time. It took a long time to— to recover. And then I started looking for you.”

Dib pursed his lips. Zim continued.

“We had search parties go all over this Sector. We tried to track your ship using, um, transmissions from the chat feature I set up. But, you didn’t call anyone, I guess. Lard Nar, one of my associates, saw you on Libraria, and we followed you from there. Then Skoodge found you here. And I got here, as fast as I could…”

Zim trailed off. Dib took a deep breath.

“You had your whole resistance team out here, looking for me? Isn’t that kind of a waste of resources?”

Zim offered a familiar, hesitant smile.

“Not for a new recruit.” 

Dib bit his lip. He looked down at Zim, waiting for him to continue. When neither said anything for a while, Dib finally spoke.

“What do you mean?”

Zim looked around, and Dib realized that the sidewalk they were standing on was still as busy as it had been a few minutes ago. Zim took him by the sleeve and dragged him into a nearby alleyway. They walked a few yards in and stopped, and Zim turned back to face him.

“Dib,” said Zim, “I’ve spoken with Tenn about this, as well as the Meekrob and Lard Nar. We’ve got a plan to attack the Brains, and we need someone with your skill set to perform an important task.”

Dib didn’t say anything. Zim cleared his throat.

“Um, you remember when we met?” asked Zim.

“Yes.”

“You were correct in recognizing the security system as Vortian. But, it wasn’t a standard system by any means. I had broken out of Shloogorgh’s a few times before Sizz-Lorr had the system updated. By the time you got there, it was so complicated that even I couldn’t get into it.”

Zim paused again, as if he was waiting for Dib to jump back into the conversation. Dib kept quiet.

“But, you did it. You got in, you didn’t trip any of the alerts, and you were done in hardly any time. That’s not common, for someone to be able to do that. You know that, right?”

Dib shrugged. He didn’t like that Zim’s compliments were making him feel all warm. He was trying to be above that. Zim coughed into his fist.

“Well, um, it was similar to what the Empire uses to protect its own systems. If you can hack into Shloogorgh’s security system, you can hack into the Massive’s operating system and pilot it remotely. From _The Mothman_.”

Dib hummed. He _was_ a pretty good hacker. He looked down at Zim.

“Where will you be when all this is happening? On the Massive?”

“Well, no,” said Zim, and he hesitated for a second, like he was wondering whether or not to share this information with Dib. “I’ll be on Irk, with Tenn, taking down the Control Brains.” 

“How?”

Zim hesitated again. Dib raised his eyebrows. 

“With my PAK.”

“With your PAK? How?”

Zim shifted from one foot to the other.

“My PAK is corrupted. As far as the Brains can tell, it’s… it’s full of bad data. It’s got a virus.”

Dib didn’t want to seem too eager, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Does it? Have a virus?”

“Well,” said Zim, “it depends on how you look at it. My PAK has been compromised for… for years, now, I guess. With the damage that’s been done to it, it would require a lot of maintenance to make it function as it normally should. Especially now…” 

Zim drifted off for a second, lost in thought. Dib cleared his throat.

“Um. Sorry. So, what I’m saying is that Tenn and I can introduce _my_ bad data into the system through the main Brain. They’re all connected, and, if one goes down, the others try to fix the problem by cooperatively running diagnostics. If we can introduce my data into the system while the other Brains are trying to troubleshoot, and while all of the technicians are distracted trying to save the Tallest from you, we can take it all down at once. With every Control Brain corrupted, the PAKs will be disconnected from the network entirely. We’ll be independent. We’ll be free.”

Dib looked down at Zim: the hopeful look in his eyes, the sheen of sweat still present on his face, the nervous smile. He chewed his lip, trying to be rational, logical, and not at all swept up in the way Zim bounced on his heels in excitement.

“You think that can work?” asked Dib.

“Yes,” said Zim, full of confidence.

“And you need me to—”

“To distract the engineers and operating technicians. If you can control the Massive, where the Tallest will be, you’ll have the attention of the entire Empire. It will not be easy — many irkens will be trying to hack into the system to block your access. But, if you can do it, just for a few minutes while Tenn and I are shutting down the Brains, then our mission will be a success.”

Dib swallowed. He looked around, noticing that the alley they were in was wet and dingy. There was a pile of garbage a few feet away, and something was dripping down the wall behind Zim. He tried to ignore all that, to gather his thoughts, and he looked back down at Zim.

“So, you need me for this? There’s no one else who can do this for you?”

Zim looked a little defeated, but he shook his head.

“It has to be you.”

Dib narrowed his eyes.

“I’m from Earth, from one of the least technologically advanced societies in the entire universe, and you’re telling me that _I’m_ the only one capable enough to do this job?”

“Maybe it’s not just about the job,” said Zim carefully. “I know how you feel about Irk, Dib. I know you want the Brains gone as badly as I do.” 

Dib stayed quiet, mulling this over. He _did_ hate the Brains. And the Empire. Maybe… maybe he could help? He’d been in space for so long, maybe he could give something back, to show his appreciation for all of the cool experiences he’d had? He could do it for all the vortians he’d met, for the Large-Nostril People forced to be librarians — hell, he could save all of them. Every enslaved race in the galaxy would be free thanks to him. 

That could give him direction. That could be purpose. 

And maybe shutting down the Brains would be justice, not just for the conquered peoples and their planets, but for him and Zim, too. 

That could be something worth fighting for. 

He didn’t realize that he was smiling until he felt Zim’s hand holding his, and he looked down to see Zim smiling back up at him.

“I know that I can trust you.” 

Dib felt his whole mood sour at that, and he yanked his hand back. This didn’t change anything between the two of them.

“I still don’t know that I can trust you, though,” he said, and Zim wilted. “If I do this, if I join the resistance, it would just be as a member of the team. You’re asking me to do this because you know I’m trustworthy and because you know I’m good at hacking, right? No other reason?”

Zim looked down at his shoes. He bent forward to brush some dirt off his knee. 

“I love you,” he murmured, again, still looking down at the ground. 

“Answer the question.”

They locked eyes for a long time. Dib didn’t blink.

“Okay,” said Zim with a curt nod. “Yes. I invited you to join the Resisty because of your skills and your trustworthiness. Nothing else.” 

“Good,” said Dib, and he turned back in the direction of the street. 

“Wait!” shouted Zim. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” called Dib over his shoulder. “I’ll do it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this out ASAP so people would see this isn't a Tallest Zim AU
> 
> (Because it's really a Resisty Zim AU)


	14. Meekrob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't be his friend. You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning. And if you're under him, you ain't getting over him." - Dua Lipa

**i.**

Zim and Dib agreed to rendezvous where Zim and Tenn had parked on the other side of town. They had taken a vehicle that Zim had called a “Zhook Cruiser,” a small ship with no hangar, so Dib would have to follow behind them in his own vehicle. After going over logistics and then an awkward goodbye, Dib headed back toward his hotel, where he’d left _The Mothman_.

As Dib walked away, he paused for a second and turned back around. Zim was still on the sidewalk next to the alleyway, standing where Dib had left him, watching him go. They locked eyes for a second and Zim gave him a nervous smile and a weak little wave. Dib scoffed and turned around, marching, more purposefully, to his ship. 

This might be another lie. He was probably walking right into another one of Zim’s tricks. Zim could very well be “romantically involved” with Tenn. 

Dib growled to himself and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Only one way to find out.

 

**ii.**

The trip to Meekrob was short and stressful. This was Dib’s first time using the SF-Drive since it had almost destroyed his ship, and he was hopeful that the mechanics he’d met were as skilled as they had seemed. Plus, he had just agreed to join a resistance force and fight against an Empire that had colonized almost a third of all known space, and he didn’t even know how good of a chance the Resisty really had. 

Not to mention, he was staring at the stern of Zim’s new ship, and he really didn’t know how to handle their new working relationship. 

Zim was back in his life. Great. Right? 

Dib wasn’t so sure. He’d deliberately not come up with a plan on what to do if he ever saw Zim again, because he had _thought_ that even entertaining the idea of Zim surviving was ludicrous. So, it had just seemed painful and pointless to try to think about what he would say to Zim if he ever got the chance. Like trying to rewrite the argument they’d had in the very cockpit where Dib was currently sitting, thinking up a dialogue on how their reunion would go seemed like it would just drain Dib emotionally for no real payoff.

Remembering back to how their first interaction had actually gone, Dib kind of regretted a few things he’d said to Zim at that pub. He didn’t really think Zim deserved to rot on Foodcourtia for the rest of his life. It really wasn’t all Zim’s fault, and he knew that a lot of Zim’s actions came from the PAK’s influence. Still, it frustrated and confused him that he still didn’t fully understand the details of Zim’s whole PAK situation. And, at this point, it would be kind of weird to ask — especially given the fact that he really couldn’t trust Zim to give him an honest answer.

He also knew that he had to stick by what he had said. He needed to have the willpower to be strong, to stand up for himself. Going back on what he had said in any way would just make him look weak and malleable. Like Zim could just waltz back into his life and not have to deal with any consequences. It might also give Zim the impression that Dib could be willing to try things again, and Dib didn’t want Zim to think that. Because they couldn’t be together again. That door was shut.

Of course, this was assuming that Zim cared about Dib at all and wasn’t actually sleeping with Tenn. Which he easily could be. She was very pretty. 

Dib hated her. 

He hated Zim.

He hated himself. 

 

Dib had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize they had arrived at Meekrob until they passed its only moon. He buckled up and prepared to land, his stomach doing flips as he watched Zim and Tenn descend just before he did. He had hoped that the half day’s trip from Mechanicon 4 to Meekrob would have given him enough time to think of something to say to Zim when they arrived. He realized he should have spent more time actually brainstorming some dialogue. Shouldn’t have wasted his few precious hours feeling sorry for himself and thinking about how annoyingly cute Zim’s new outfit was. 

As he landed _The Mothman_ , Dib decided to just say as little as possible to Zim (assuming this whole Resisty thing was legit and they were actually… colleagues, now). All conversations would be brief, just small talk and shop talk. No Would You Rather. No fun science chat. No joking or laughing. No flirting. 

NO FLIRTING. 

(That actually shouldn’t be a problem. Dib was terrible at flirting.) 

Dib parked next to Zim’s Zhook Cruiser on a roof in the middle of a small city. He leaned back in his seat and tried to take a few deep breaths. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, trying to decide if he’d just made a terrible mistake. He jumped when he heard the sound of Zim tapping on his windshield. 

They made eye contact, and Zim did that stupid little wave again. Dib popped the windshield open.

“Did you have a nice trip?” asked Zim.

“Uh, yeah,” said Dib. “It was fine.”

Great work, Dib. Keep it cool and casual.

Zim regarded Dib, then took a closer look at _The Mothman_. 

“Hey, looks like you made a few upgrades. Mind if I take a gander?” 

“Don’t come in my ship!” snapped Dib, even surprising himself.

“Oh, um… okay. Sorry,” said Zim, taking a quick step back. “Look, Tenn’s gotta go get ready,” Zim pointed behind himself at Tenn, who was already walking away and talking to a holographic figure coming from a little square in her hand, “so I’m going to show you to your quarters. Um, you can come back here later, if you want, but there isn’t a lot of time, so I’d suggest you pack a bag of the essentials. You know, your, uh, toothbrush and your hair soap and some, um, pajamas—”

“I know what my essentials are, thanks,” said Dib, and he turned on his heel and strode out of the cockpit. He shut the door behind him, leaving Zim alone. 

Since Dib had lost his duffle bag months ago, all he had for luggage was an old backpack. He stuffed it with underwear, socks, jeans, and t-shirts. With almost no room left in the bag, he grabbed his toiletries and his laptop and walked nervously back toward the cockpit. Before leaving his bedroom, he swiped the picture of himself and Gaz from graduation off his dresser and jammed it into the front pocket of his backpack. 

He opened the door of the cockpit to find Zim, standing where Dib had left him, his fists clenched at his sides. They made eye contact and Dib cleared his throat.

“I don’t have a suitcase or anything, and, uh, I couldn’t fit all my stuff in here. When can I come back and grab more clothes?”

“Um, another time, maybe,” said Zim, “but we have clothes for you. You know, uh, work clothes?” 

“Oh,” said Dib, surprised. He gestured to Zim’s outfit. “Like that?” 

“Oh, um, no,” said Zim quickly. “More like… well I’ll just show you. You can leave your keys in there. Skoodge will come gather your ship and park it in its designated spot.” 

“Oh,” Dib looked back at his ship. His only way to escape if things got hairy. “Where is he parking it?” 

“Just below ground. Nowhere far. It’s just, um, a hassle, and we really need to get going, you know?” 

Dib looked at Zim for a second. He looked nervous. Dib chewed his lip.

“Alright, Zim,” he said with a defeated sigh. He pulled his keys from his coat pocket and put them on the dashboard, then hopped out of his ship. 

“It’s safe,” said Zim quietly as Dib approached him. 

Dib noticed that Zim was also leaving his own cruiser with the windshield open and the keys on the dashboard. He figured, then, that it probably was safe. He followed Zim to an elevator door in the middle of the roof. Zim hit the down button.

There was silence while they waited for the elevator to arrive.

When the doors finally opened, a familiar irken was standing there, tapping away at a tablet in his hands. Instead of the pink Invader’s tunic and pants, though, he had on a dark blue jumpsuit that zipped up the front and was belted at the waist. He looked up and squeaked.

“Oh, hi!” he said, looking from Zim to Dib. “Hi, Dib!”

“Uh, hi… Skoodge, right?” asked Dib.

“Yup, that’s me! Glad to see you here!” said Skoodge as he stepped out of the elevator. He looked up at Dib with a cheerful smile. “I’m gonna just take care of your ship for you. I’ll let you know what floor it’s on so you can find it easy. And, hey, if you ever need anything—”

“Okay, bye, Skoodge!” said Zim, stepping between Dib and Skoodge.

Dib couldn’t see the expression on Zim’s face, but Skoodge’s antennae started to shake as they stared each other down, and his smile twisted down into a tight grimace. Skoodge looked back up at Dib, and his expression turned cheerful again.

“Okay, bye guys! See you at the meeting,” called Skoodge as he took off toward Dib’s ship. Dib watched him climb into the cockpit and then take off. 

He looked back at Zim, who was in the elevator, holding the door.

He didn’t say anything as he stepped inside. The door slid shut.

Dib cleared his throat.

“So, Skoodge is, like… your valet guy?” 

Zim scoffed.

“No, he is not the ‘valet guy.’ He’s just doing me a favor,” he said.

“Oh,” said Dib. “That’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, well,” Zim grumbled. “He owed me one.”  


Dib thought back to yesterday, when he’d met Skoodge. He decided not to push the issue any further.

“Can I carry your backpack for you?” murmured Zim as he stared at his feet.

“No,” said Dib lightly.

 

Dib had a pretty good internal clock, but he was almost certain that the rest of their elevator ride, which was completely silent, had taken the better part of an hour. He checked his watch and saw that it had only been about two minutes. Hm. 

They left the elevator, and Zim led them down a narrow hallway lined with doors. Dib looked at his feet, watching as they walked along a dark, bluish-grey floor that looked and felt like it was made of something similar to soapstone. He admired the thick silver veins that ran through the stone, as well as its feel, soft and warm, under his feet. A far cry from the metal floors of his own ship. 

Next to him, he heard the familiar sound of Zim’s marching. It irked him that he could recognize the pattern of Zim’s footfalls, as if he were Zim’s dog or something. 

Zim stopped. Dib stopped, too, just ahead of Zim, and turned around. 

“This is your room,” said Zim.

Dib looked up and saw that they were, in fact, standing right in front of a tall, blue door. A single key on a small metal ring popped out of a compartment in Zim’s PAK and landed in his waiting hand. He offered it to Dib. 

Dib took the key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the huge window on the wall facing him. The second thing he noticed was the city outside.

He hadn’t paid much attention to Meekrob when he’d landed, but, looking at it now, he was blown away. He jogged over to the window and looked out, admiring the stout, colorful buildings, the huge, pink sky, and the buzz of life below him.

Unlike the Irken colonies, Meekrob’s city was clean and neat. The buildings weren’t horribly tall, although Dib imagined his room was at least twenty stories above ground. He could see apartments with balconies and beings from every race Dib had ever met walking the streets. There was plant life, too, everywhere: short, thick grey trees with pastel-colored leaves lined the wide sidewalks, and there were large, open parks with flower gardens and even bigger trees with branches that hung down, almost to the ground, their leaves like fat, heavy, teardrops. The grass was a minty green color. Dib couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen grass. 

The buildings were in light, soothing shades of pink, purple, blue, and green. The sidewalks were some kind of charcoal grey stone, and there were no roads — just highways, busy with ships, that buzzed above the buildings. There were lakes and bubbling streams in the parks that were a soft, translucent pink. The sun, high in the sky. was warm and bright, and it shined down gently on the city below it. 

“Wow,” said Dib. 

He hadn’t heard Zim come up behind him, and he jumped at sound of the irken humming next to him.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” asked Zim.

“It’s… it’s gorgeous. Wow. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” said Dib breathlessly.

“I know,” said Zim softly. “I felt the same way when I got here.”

“Who lives here?” asked Dib. “Who are all these people?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Zim smile.

“The Resisty.”

“All… everyone? Everyone here?”

Zim hummed. “In this city, yes. This has been the home of the Resisty’s headquarters for years, now.”

Dib stared in disbelief at all the life buzzing below him. Every single one of them was part of this cause? Fighting for their planets’ freedom? Alongside Zim, and Skoodge, and Tenn… and him?

“Wow.”

“We have a meeting scheduled soon. Afterwards, I can take you downtown, if you want,” said Zim quietly.

That jolted Dib out of his reverie, and he looked down at Zim. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

“Dib—”

“I can just go by myself. It’s fine,” said Dib, and he turned away from the window to drop his backpack on the bed. He noted that the sheets and blankets were the same striped pattern as the bedding he’d had on _The Mothman_. He ignored this and pulled his picture of himself and Gaz out of his backpack. He found a desk in the corner of the room, across from the bed, and set it up there as Zim watched him. 

“Will you be staying mad at me for much longer?” asked Zim, with a hint of irritation.

Dib turned around so he was facing Zim. He leaned back onto his desk and crossed his arms. 

“I don’t know, Zim. What would be most convenient for you?” he asked.

Zim scoffed and crossed his arms, mirroring Dib. 

“Are you serious?” asked Zim.

“Are _you_?” asked Dib. “You really expect me to be over this in a couple of hours?” 

“No!” snapped Zim, but he blushed a little at the accusation, which made Dib think that he did. “I just… can you at least let me try to make it up to you?”

Dib crossed his arms tighter, pushing away the traitorous thought that maybe there was a way he and Zim could make things right again. An additional thought wormed its way into Dib’s brain. It wondered why Zim wasn’t mad at him, too. He should be. 

“No.” 

Zim face fell for a short moment, and then he was angry again and his hands were on his hips. 

“I reject that answer.”

“Too bad.”

Zim growled. He stomped his foot. He pointed a finger at Dib and was about to start ranting when a beeping sound from his PAK made him and Dib jump.

Zim sighed. 

“I have to leave,” he said.

“Okay, bye,” snapped Dib, trying to get his now shaking hands under control. The beeping sound from Zim’s PAK, which was apparently an alarm of some kind, had frightened him more than he wanted to admit. He blinked away sudden, scared tears. 

Zim didn’t seem to notice. He crossed the room and went for the door. Before leaving, he turned back and pointed at a square on the wall across from the bed. There was a defeated look on his face.

“Put your palm on that and it’ll open to your closet. Your attire for the meeting is in there, please wear it,” he said. 

Zim’s PAK whirred. A metal square, small and flat, landed in Zim’s waiting palm.

“This is for you. It has all of the necessary contacts already programmed into it, as well as your schedule for the next couple of days. Please keep it on your at all times, as we will use it to communicate with you. If you have any questions, you can just ask m— whoever. Everyoneknows how they work.”

He offered the communicator to Dib, who stayed where he was, leaned against his desk, looking down at the floor. His face was hot and his heart was beating too fast. He didn’t look up at Zim, afraid that he might betray the fact that he was barely covering up a mounting rush of panic and fear. 

“Dib?”

Dib didn’t move, but he felt his forehead go sweaty. He knew Zim was looking at him. He swallowed hard. 

“Just go,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“Dib, what’s wrong?” asked Zim, his hand still on the doorknob.

“Can you just leave, please?”

There was a tense pause, as Zim slowly bent down to place Dib’s communicator on the floor. He stood up, just as slowly, and looked at Dib.

“I’m going now. I’ll have… someone… come and get you when it’s time to meet. It won’t be long, but you’ll have enough time to change and, uh, relax for a second. I’ll see you at the meeting,” he said.

Dib didn’t answer. He didn’t look up until he heard the sound of the door open and then close. 

When he was alone, Dib collapsed onto his new bed and curled up into a ball, his breathing shaky and his eyes wet. 

He thought back to their argument in the pub, to Zim’s assertion that his staying would have killed Dib. He swallowed back more regret, for what he’d done months ago and for what he’d said today. He wondered if Zim’s PAK was still dangerous — if Zim was still dangerous. He wondered, again, how much of the blame was on him for making Zim snap like that. 

 

After a few minutes, he gathered himself, resolving not to completely lose it when he only had a short amount of time before he needed to leave to meet with Zim and, presumably, Tenn. And, also, Skoodge? What was this meeting about, anyway? As Dib’s fear subsided, annoyance took over, and he realized that Zim really hadn’t given him any details except for what to wear. Apparently, he’d just have to figure the rest out when he got there. 

His room had a bathroom, so he dragged himself out of bed and took a quick shower. He shaved off his breakup beard. He cleaned his glasses, put on a fresh t-shirt, some socks, and pair of boxers from his backpack, and then turned to the wall across from the bed.

As Zim had said, there was a small white square that stood out against the light blue paint of the wall. Dib pressed a hand to it, feeling kind of dumb as he did so, but it lit up, and then the wall in front of him was opening like an elevator door and there was a small closet with some shelving and, hanging from the rod, a navy blue jumpsuit. 

Dib stepped into it and noticed that the fabric was somewhat similar to Zim’s tunic — a soft but sturdy cotton-like material that slid easily over his hips and shoulders. He zipped it up and belted it across his waist, admiring the slightly darker, stretchier panels on the sides and the dark grey ribbing at the collar and cuffs. He pulled on the black boots that had been left on the floor of his closet, appreciating the comfortable, breathable leather. He went back into the bathroom, admiring himself in the full-length mirror that hung from the door, noting that, with all things considered, at least he looked cool in this outfit. 

 

He was trying to get his cowlick organized when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. When he opened it, though, no one was there. He looked around, wondering if this was a joke of some sort. Was the Resisty into hazing?

“Hi!” Dib heard. 

He looked around, again, wondering if the person that Zim had sent to pick him up was invisible or something. 

“Hello?” he asked. 

“Hi!” he heard again, with the same tone and inflection, in that same high-pitched, almost mechanical-sounding voice. 

He looked down.

“Oh. Hi,” he said.

“HI,” said the little robot, louder, but, again, the same way as before.

Dib stared down at the robot. What… was it? It came up to about Dib’s knee, and it almost looked like a SIR Unit, but the eyes, chest panel, and upper limb joints were all a light teal instead of the normal red. It also looked really, really outdated. In fact, it looked more like an Irken frozen yogurt dispensing bot than the SIRs that the Invaders were using nowadays. 

“Um. Are you lost?” asked Dib.

“I’m supposed to come get yooooou!” squeaked the robot. 

“Oh,” said Dib, “um, okay. For the meeting?”

“Okay!” said the robot as it turned and started sprinting down the hall, back toward the elevators. 

“Hey, wait!” Dib took off after the robot, his new communicator forgotten on the floor of his room. 

He managed to get into the elevator just as the door was closing. When he looked down at the robot, who was singing to itself and pressing all of the elevator buttons, he frowned.

“Um… who sent you to get me?” he asked, wondering if this actually _was_ a hazing thing.

“My master!” chirped the bot.

“Right,” said Dib, “and your master is…?”

The robot stared up at him. It drooled a little. Dib didn’t realize robots were capable of drooling.

“Who is your master?” Dib finally asked.

“Uh, Zim,” said the robot, with a _you should know this_ attitude that Dib didn’t really appreciate. 

Well, alright. Dib decided to just go with it. Getting a drooling robot that did his errands for him kind of sounded like something Zim would do. 

Ahead of them, the elevators continued to open and close at every floor they reached. 

“Right,” said Dib. “Okay, then. So, do you have any idea what this meeting is about? Or who else is going to be there? I’m not really sure what’s expected of me, here, you know?”

“I don’t,” said the robot flippantly. 

Dib huffed. Why was he even asking this robot? What would it know?

“Did you know,” asked the robot casually, “that today the horny guy and my master’s lady friend are going to be giving assignments for the big mission?” 

Dib stared down at the bot.

“The big mission?” 

“Yee.” 

“Wait, your master’s ‘lady friend’? Do you mean Tenn?”

“Yee.”

“So, they’re, like together, then?”

“Yee! They always together.”

“Like, together, just the two of them?” asked Dib, hoping he wasn’t being too ambiguous for this stupid robot to get what he was asking.

“All the time!” said the robot. “In the office, in Master’s room, in the conference room, in Tenn’s room—”

“Okay, ew, please stop,” stammered Dib, his face getting hot. 

The robot just looked up at him and shrugged. 

“You asked.”

“Yeah, well. I wish I hadn’t.” 

The robot shrugged again with a little “hm.” Then, it sat on the floor and started sucking on its foot.

He really didn’t want to know the details of what was going on with Zim and Tenn. But, still, this obtuse little bot had proved Dib’s theory to be true. Zim _was_ seeing Tenn, intimately, and “all the time.” 

The thought of it made Dib furious. 

He didn’t say anything to the robot as it chewed, swallowed, and then coughed up its own leg. He just stared forward, watching the elevator doors open and close as they descended, his hands in the pockets of his new jumpsuit and his face red with rage.

 

Finally, they reached a floor that was, apparently, their stop, as the bot dove forward once the doors opened and landed flat on its belly. 

“WE’RE HERE,” it said, before jumping up and offering its little robot hand to Dib. 

“Uh, no thanks,” said Dib, and the robot shrugged and skipped forward, motioning for Dib to follow.

Dib followed Zim’s tiny robot down a wide hallway. They turned a corner and, leaning against the wall next to a large door, was Zim. 

“MASTER,” screeched the robot. It sprinted forward, racing toward Zim, and leapt into his arms.

“GIR!” snapped Zim. “What took so long? I sent you to fetch Dib ages ago!”

“I got lost a bunch!” singsonged the robot. 

“Whatever,” said Zim. “Get inside and sit next to Tenn.”

“Okay, my Master!” chirped the robot, and he leapt from Zim’s arms, throwing him off balance, and dashed through the door that Zim was standing next to. 

With the robot gone, Dib and Zim stared at each other.

“Uh,” said Dib. “Is the meeting starting?”

“In a minute,” said Zim with a flippant wave of a hand. “They won’t start without me.”

“Well, then, should we—?”

“Are you okay?”

Dib reeled back a little, surprised.

“What?”

“Are you okay? You seemed upset before, and I just— I didn’t mean to make you angry, I’m just… ugh, what I’m trying to say is—”

“I’m fine,” said Dib cooly. “It was nothing.”

“Was it my PAK?”

Dib looked away and pursed his lips, saying nothing.

“It startled you,” said Zim. “I’m sorry, I should have— I should’ve told you the alarm would go off, it was just so I wouldn’t be late, I had to, uh, change—”

“It’s fine,” repeated Dib, and he looked at Zim and realized that he actually had changed out of his other tunic and leggings and into a jumpsuit much like Dib’s. 

Dib took a second to look Zim over, noting how the suit accentuated his frame and made his eyes look even more pink. He bit his lip as Zim stared at him. He coughed.

“So, what? You got all dressed up in that other outfit just to see me?” asked Dib.

Zim blushed furiously, which Dib thought was actually kind of funny.

“No!” he snapped, looking away.

Dib rolled his eyes. Zim cleared his throat.

“Dib, I want you to know that my PAK won’t… it won’t do those things anymore. Its override function was disabled when I got here,” said Zim quietly. 

Dib swallowed, knowing that Zim was only saying this because he’d seen how fearful Dib had gotten over a stupid alarm.

“Whatever.”

“I’m sorry, Dib.”

Dib looked away.

“Stop.”

“Dib—”

“I know you’re sleeping with Tenn,” snapped Dib, the words tumbling from his mouth, loudly, before he could stop them.

Zim threw his hands up in exasperation.

“ _No_ , I’m not,” he countered, matching Dib’s volume, “how many times do I have to tell you—”

“Your stupid robot just told me you were! Don’t lie!” barked Dib.

“Oh, really, Dib? Really? Now you’re getting your gossip from that pile of scrap metal?”

“Well, at least it’s more honest than _you_!” 

Dib didn’t notice that their voices had risen, and now they were yelling at each other, their faces inches apart.

“I am being honest! Why won’t you believe me?!”

“WHY DO YOU THINK?” roared Dib, and Zim blinked, his expression going from rage to sorrow in an instant.

Zim took a step back. He stared at the floor.

A pause, awkward and tense, filled the space between them. 

“I don’t know what to say to you,” said Zim. “I… I don’t know what to say to make this right.”

He looked up at Dib, his face twisted with grief. 

“Don’t say anything,” muttered Dib. “Just leave me alone.” 

Zim’s expression darkened, and he glared up at Dib with a familiar look of single-minded resolve.

“I will make this right,” growled Zim. 

“No, you won’t,” sneered Dib, and Zim gave another growl that turned into a quiet scream. “Just leave me alone.” 

“Fine, then!”

He turned on his heel and stormed through the door, and Dib followed, feeling angry, confused, and a little turned on. 

It was when he got through the door and into the conference room that he was faced with a gaggle of strangers, all seated around a big, rectangular table, staring at him. His face burned as he took his seat, which, of course, was right next to Zim. 

 

**iii.**

At the head of the table sat Tenn, her elbows on the table, her face in her hands. When Dib and Zim took their seats, she straightened and took a deep breath. 

“Okay. Let’s get started,” she said. “I thought that, since we have a new recruit, we could—”

“Master?” asked Zim’s robot from where he was sitting on the table, facing Zim, his little legs kicking in the air.

Zim looked at Tenn, then at the robot, then back at Tenn. She just sighed in defeat.

“What is it, GIR?” asked Zim.

“You don’t really think I’m a pile of scrap metal, do ya?” asked the robot, his tinny little voice wavering with emotion. 

Dib felt his entire body go hot with embarrassment. He stared at the robot, who actually looked like it was fighting back tears.

Likewise, Zim’s face had gone dark. He blinked a couple of times, then looked down at his hands as he picked at some imaginary lint on his jumpsuit.

“Of course not, GIR,” he said, and the robot giggled.

“Knew it!” it said, leaping up to wrap its arms around Zim’s neck.

Some bumbling ensued as Zim tried to free himself from his robot’s — from GIR’s grip. When Zim was finally free and GIR was sitting, satisfied, on the table next to him, Dib heard a familiar voice from across the table.

“What’s the ‘G’ in GIR stand for, anyway?” asked Skoodge, and Dib looked up to see the other irken sitting directly across from him, his own SIR unit seated, crosslegged, on the table.

“Garbage,” muttered Dib, before he could stop himself. 

To his surprise, he heard a giggle to his left, and he looked over to see Tenn with her hand covering her mouth, trying to suppress a laugh.

“That’s what _I_ said,” she snorted, and the rest of the attendees broke out in uneasy laughter.

“Enough making fun of my robot!” snapped Zim. He turned to Tenn. “Can we get started, please? Or are we going to keep wasting time?” 

“Alright, alright,” said Tenn, her eyes mischievous as she grinned at Dib. 

Despite himself, Dib smiled back. 

GIR began occupying himself with standing in Zim’s lap and zipping and unzipping his jumpsuit, exposing and concealing the black undershirt underneath. Zim sighed like he was the parent of a hyperactive toddler. 

“Let’s get started,” said Tenn. “I thought, since we’ve added a new recruit to our unit, we could go across the room and introduce ourselves. Nothing too extensive, just our names, home planets, and areas of expertise.”

Tenn gestured to the vortian sitting to her left, whom Dib recognized from Libraria. His name was Lard Nar, apparently, and he was an engineer.

Next was Skoodge, who was sitting to the left of Lard Nar. A former Invader and trained soldier, but, he confessed, his true passion was xenoanthropology.

“That’s so cool,” said Dib. “I like that stuff, too.” 

Skoodge beamed. He offered to show Dib some of his notes, and Dib happily accepted. Next to him, Dib heard Zim grumble something to GIR. He ignored it.

Next, they reached a taller alien with brown skin and eyes and four arms. They started speaking in a language Dib didn’t recognize. He reached into his pocket, and his ears went hot at the realization that he’d forgotten his translator in his ship. The being kept talking, and Dib just stared at them blankly, his whole face feeling like it was on fire.

Tenn cleared her throat.

“Did you show Dib the translator function of his communicator?” she asked Zim.

“Oh! Right, er, Dib, let me see your—”

“I forgot it,” murmured Dib, thinking back to the communicator, still on his floor, his face burning as he avoided looking at Zim.

“You… forgot it?” asked Zim.

“Yeah, I fucking…” Dib whispered. “I forgot it.”

“Oh, well,” said Zim awkwardly, “that’s… that’s okay—”

“Here, you can use mine,” said a cheery voice to Dib’s right. 

He looked over and was shocked to find an upside-down grey cone with a round, purple face was floating over the seat next to him. Dib stared. The cone tilted forward, revealing a black square on the top of his… head? Dib took the communicator. He held it in his palm and watched as the cone tapped at it a few times. 

“Now, put it… here…” said the cone, using his pointy end to guide the communicator to Dib’s right breast. To Dib’s surprise, it stuck to the fabric of his suit.

The cone looked at the four-armed alien sitting to Tenn’s left.

“Start again, Spleenk,” he said, and the being — Spleenk — started talking about himself, his home planet, and his role in founding the Resisty with Lard Nar. 

Dib smiled and gave the cone a thumbs up. The cone winked. Next to him, Dib heard Zim grumble something to GIR. He ignored that, too.

They went around the room, and, by the time they got around to Dib, he’d been formally introduced to a Vortian engineer named Lard Nar, a Peribiti pilot named Spleenk, a three-headed Taoolo soldier named Axon, and the Cone Person, a weapons expert and Lard Nar’s right hand, who was named Shloonktapooxis. Finally, they got to Dib, and he suddenly felt like a child playing dress-up in a room full of trained, capable adults.

“Uh, I’m Dib Membrane, I’m from Earth, and, well, I have a degree in Astrophysical Engineering?”

“And…?” asked Tenn, and Dib balked.

“What?”

“Zim told us about the modified ’Splodey System you hacked into on Foodcourtia. He said your skills as a systems analyst are unparalleled. Your understanding of different technologies, too, reaches far beyond just your home planet—”

“Uh, okay,” said Dib, holding his hands up in defeat. “Yeah, I mean… I guess so.” 

He looked over at Zim, who was looking at him with a curious look in his face. Dib felt the blush creeping from his cheeks back to his ears and neck.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s true,” said Zim with a shrug. “Don’t sell yourself short.” 

Instead of feeling good about the compliment, Dib felt a deep sensation of dread wash over him. 

He didn’t even listen to Zim’s introduction, or Tenn’s, for that matter. Something about being top of her class in academy with unrivaled test scores. 

Instead, he listened to the little voice inside his head that was telling him, for the first time, that this was real.

He was part of a resistance force.

He was joining a war.

Tenn went on, explaining their individual roles. Zim passed him a folder with the details of the mission. 

He was going to hack into the Empire’s flagship.

Tenn, Zim, and Skoodge would go to Irk.

Spleenk, Shloonktapooxis, Lard Nar, and Axon would clandestinely board the Massive and provide backup for Dib if he couldn’t maintain control of the ship or if he was under attack by the Armada.

He might get attacked by the entire Irken Armada.

He was the bait.

The inhabitants of this entire city, no, of over a third of the _universe_ , were counting on him.

Zim’s corrupted PAK would destroy the Control Brains from the inside out.

Dib’s heart pounded hard in his chest.

He would pilot the Massive into the Resisty’s fleet, and the Tallest would be forced to surrender or be taken prisoner.

Irk, and all of its colonies, would be free.

Dib looked at Zim.

 

God dammit, what had he let Zim talk him into? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you keeping track, it's allies to friends to enemies/lovers to just lovers to enemies to embittered coworkers.


	15. Resist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I believe it was a sin. Oh, to do you in the way I did.” - The Revivalists 

**i.**

When Dib was sixteen, his father took him to a fancy dinner party and formally introduced him to a handful of world leaders as “the future of the Membrane Empire.” It had been annoying at the time, so Dib had just flubbed through a conversation about his aspirations as best as he could while he fiddled with his cufflinks. He’d tried to explain to his father’s colleagues that he was already pretty busy protecting the world from monsters and other paranormal dangers, and, to his dismay, they had all laughed at him.

Professor Membrane had then spent the entire hour’s drive home dissecting Dib’s passion and explaining why he was finally putting his foot down with his “parascience nonsense.” Dib hadn’t said anything — he’d heard that speech before, dozens of times. What was really starting to settle into his teenage brain was the fact that he really _was_ the future of his father’s company: the labs, the employees, the contracts… everything. In just a few years, Dib would be at least partially responsible for all of that — his father’s life’s work, in his hands, for him to manage. The thought of it was daunting, to say the least, and Dib had felt like he might pass out just thinking about it. 

This was much worse.

When the first meeting was finally over, Dib booked it out of the conference room as quickly as possible. He heard Zim behind him, shouting something, but he didn’t care. He knew that he probably hadn’t made the best first impression on the Resisty’s highest-ranked Special Operations Unit, but, seriously, just thinking about the _name_ of his new group of colleagues was making him break out in hives.

He paused when he turned a corner and got to another hallway, and he realized that he had no idea where he was. Panic started to sink in, and he cursed himself for giving Shloonktapooxis back his communicator so soon. He looked around, trying to find something recognizable, but there were just rows of doors and no real way to identify where he was. He turned around, only to be hit with the force of Zim slamming into him.

“Sorry!” squeaked Zim, and Dib stepped back in surprise.

They stared at each other, and Dib felt his anxiety toward this mission reform into anger at the tiny green bastard who’d apparently been singing his praises the past two months. 

“What was that all about?” snapped Dib, and Zim blinked in surprise.

“I didn’t think you were going to turn around so quickly!” he said. “Look, you’re going—”

“That’s not what I meant,” hissed Dib. “What did you tell them?”

“‘Them’? Who, Spops?” asked Zim. 

Zim’s response gave Dib pause, and he looked down in surprise, watching as Zim fiddled with the file that Dib had left behind in the conference room. Annoyed that he’d left his homework behind and frustrated that Zim was bringing it to him, Dib rolled his eyes. 

“What the fuck is Spops?” he asked.

“Uh, you know…” said Zim. “Special Operations Force, Prime Unit. Our unit?” 

“You call yourselves SpOps?” Dib deadpanned. 

Zim nodded. 

“Ourselves,” he corrected. “Um, you, too, is what I mean. You’re part of it, now. Of SpOps.”

“That’s a dumb name.”

“Well, Spleenk came up with it, and it just kind of stuck—”

“What did you tell them about me?”

Zim’s whole face flushed, and he looked away.

“You mean, in general, or—?”

“I mean my skills. I mean, what, do they all think I’m some crazy-good systems pirate now?”

Zim looked up, his features twisted with confusion.

“You _are_ a crazy-good systems pirate.”

Dib swallowed, trying not to be subdued by the look of pure sincerity on Zim’s face. He put a hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Dib?”

“I just—” Dib stammered, not sure of what to say, “this is a lot. I need to just… I have to—”

“Do you need fresh air? Do you want to go outside?”

“Maybe,” said Dib, and he turned back in the direction he was originally going, leaving Zim behind. 

“Can I—?”

“I don’t want you to come,” snapped Dib, still walking in what he knew was probably the wrong direction. He didn’t care.

“Dib, please! If you’re feeling overwhelmed, we… we can talk! You can talk to me!” 

Dib didn’t turn around, but he stopped walking. He let Zim cross in front of him and take him by the hand. 

“We can talk,” said Zim quietly, and Dib looked down. “We can talk about everything. Just… just let me help you. Let me make this better.”

Dib swallowed, overwhelmed with sadness and fear and nervousness. 

“I can’t right now, Zim. This is… so much. It’s like… too much is happening at once. I can’t deal with all of it. With… with you, and, like, _us_ , and this whole… ugh. I can’t talk to you right now. Please, I just… I need some space. I need to get my head back together. Maybe we can talk another time.” 

He gently removed his hand from Zim’s grasp and then pushed past him. 

Dib kept walking and eventually found the elevator. He heard voices behind him as he waited for it to arrive, but he ignored them. When the door finally opened, he stepped inside and reached for— shit. What floor was he on? He was definitely supposed to go up, but… he tried to remember his room number, and he realized he hadn’t even paid attention to that, and his key was just a key, it didn’t say anything on it, so how the hell was he supposed to—

“Mind if I join you?”

Dib looked up, broken from his silent panic by Skoodge, standing next to him in the elevator. 

“Oh, um. Yeah, sure. What floor?”

“Oh, wherever you’re going,” said Skoodge, and Dib laughed nervously.

“I’m, uh, I’m trying to get to my room, but I can’t remember what floor I’m on,” he said, hoping Skoodge would help and not make fun of him for being a total idiot.

“Hm,” said Skoodge with a nod. “I think I can help you out with that.” 

He pressed a button near the middle of the array of buttons, and they started going down. 

“I think I’m actually supposed to be going up,” said Dib. 

Skoodge didn’t say anything for a moment.

“I know,” he said. “But, seeing as you’re in the wrong elevator to get to your room anyway, I thought we could go for a walk. If you’re interested?”

Dib gave a questioning hum. He looked down at Skoodge, who was looking up at him, his face perfectly pleasant. He swallowed.

“Walk where?”

The elevator doors opened, and they were in some kind of lobby, with the same soft, dark stone flooring. When Dib looked up, he saw high ceilings. The walls around them were the same rock as the floor, but they were crawling with vines that were leafy and thorny and the same color as the tutu that Gaz wore during her very short-lived ballet phase. The floor was carved with intricate patterns that reminded Dib of Earth mandalas. Around him, beings buzzed to and fro, stopping to chat with one another on their way to their destinations. Dib saw a handful of different elevators. He saw endless, abundant hallways. He gulped, feeling like his senses were being overloaded. 

“The elevator to your room is right there,” said Skoodge, pointing to an elevator across the foyer, under a sign that blinked in different languages. When it got to Irken, Dib recognized the phrase “Dormitories, Carbon-based.” 

“Oh,” said Dib.

“You’re on the twenty-first floor. Once you’re out, you take a right, and then your room is number thirty-five.”

“Okay,” said Dib, looking down at Skoodge. “Thanks.”  


“No problem,” replied Skoodge. 

He gestured to their left, where beings were passing in and out of a tall archway. 

“Now, if you wanted to go walk around the city for a little while, I’d be happy to show you my favorite spots.”

Dib bit his lip. He looked back down at Skoodge.

“Did Zim tell you to do this?” he asked.

Skoodge paused for a second, then shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I would have offered anyway.” 

Dib considered this. He could use some fresh air, and he _was_ itching to get outside and explore Meekrob. This sounded a lot better than holing up in his room for the rest of the night, even if Skoodge was just offering because Zim had made him, or, worse, because he felt sorry for Dib. 

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

 

Meekrob was as vibrant and pretty from the road as it was from Dib’s window. Dib let Skoodge walk him down the main street and show him his favorite restaurants. He walked Dib through the parks and encouraged him to smell the flowers that grew in the beds along the rivers. 

They chatted about Blorch, the planet that Skoodge had conquered years ago. Skoodge explained how he’d been the first to conquer a planet in OID Two, but, because of his height, he’d been replaced at his own ceremony and then launched back into Blorch. He’d survived out of sheer dumb luck (a trait that irkens seemed to have in common, Dib realized). Once he’d gotten his bearings, he’d hijacked a Spittle Runner and, after a series of near-deaths and misadventures, he’d found himself on Meekrob, working with Tenn to build Resisty City.

“I know it’s kind of a stupid name for a city,” said Skoodge.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” said Dib.

“It’s okay. We weren’t too worried about the name.” 

Dib just hummed, admiring the view of the park and the city around it from the bench they were sitting on.

From this spot, he could see Headquarters: its dark stone exterior, its many towers, the swarm of life buzzing in, out, and around it. 

“I’m worried,” said Dib, surprising himself.

“About what?” asked Skoodge. 

“This… whole thing. I feel like… I dunno. I feel like everyone else has a lot more going for them than me. I’m, like, the weak link.” 

Skoodge just shrugged.

“Zim had a lot of good things to say about you. I didn’t think he’d lie.” 

“You didn’t?” asked Dib. “He lies all the time.”

Skoodge shrugged again. He looked up at the sky.

“It’s hard to explain.”  


“You don’t have to,” said Dib quickly. “I didn’t… we didn’t have to talk about Zim.” 

“It’s fine,” said Skoodge, looking back at Dib with a little smile on his face. “If you want to, you can.” 

“I just…” Dib looked away. He didn’t want to start crying in front of Skoodge, as nice as he seemed. Plus, he was getting tired of crying all the time. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” said Skoodge, and he leaned back against the bench and crossed his legs 

They said nothing for a while. 

“It’s just, you know, it’s so unsettling for him to be all gung-ho about this new thing, when, last time I saw him, which wasn’t that long ago, he was on something totally different. Like, he just jumped from one thing to the next? Even though he was, I dunno… really invested in the first thing? And now, he’s, y’know, saying sorry all the time? And, like, asking to hold my stuff and hang out? What’s up with that? Like, pick a thing.”

“Um—”

“ _And_ , you know, he asked me to do this Resisty stuff with him, and he said it was because he could trust me and that I can do it, but, like, are either of those things true, really? I mean, I’m good with computers, sure, but I’m not, like… like you guys. I’m from the Zeta Sector! I’m not a trained soldier, I can’t fight anyone, and I’ve never had to, I mean, I’ve hacked into a few systems, but I really feel like this is different—”

“Dib—”  


“And then, you know, he thinks I’m trustworthy, which…” Dib felt the tears coming, but he was on a roll, so he didn’t bother fighting them, “I mean, am I?”

“Aren’t you?” asked Skoodge, looking at Dib with concern. 

Dib gave a shaky sigh, trying to pull himself together.

“I don’t get why he isn’t mad at me, too.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Skoodge’s antennae flick up in interest.

“Why would he be mad at you? What did you do?”

Dib glanced over.

“He didn’t tell you?” 

Skoodge shook his head.

“I just…”

Dib inhaled a big breath.

“I thought I knew better than he did about his own PAK. I thought that, I was so stupid, I thought that we would just… figure it out? Like, his PAK wasn’t even that big of a deal, or, at least, I didn’t treat it like it was a big deal while it was…” his voice dropped to a whisper, “it was fucking killing him. _I_ was killing him.” 

Skoodge didn’t say anything, and they sat in silence for a few moments. 

“I was more worried about having him the way I wanted him than I was about keeping him safe. I thought… I thought that, since I, you know… loved him, that I was doing the right thing, like, love conquers all or some shit. I don’t know. I didn’t know what I was doing, obviously, but I put him in danger and I didn’t even—”

Dib buried his face in his hands, and they sat together, silent save for the babbling stream next to them and Dib’s wet, shaky breaths. Distantly, he realized that Skoodge was patting him gently on the back. He looked up. 

“Why don’t you just apologize?” asked Skoodge finally, “and make up?”

“I can’t do that,” muttered Dib. 

“Why not?” 

“Because he _lied_ to me, Skoodge! For months! He put me in danger, too, and he used me, he… he… I don’t know. I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t, okay? And I don’t want to find out.” 

“But… why not?”

“Because! It hurts! It makes me feel bad when I think about it!”

“I see,” said Skoodge, and Dib looked over, surprised by Skoodge’s neutral, academic tone.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?” asked Dib.

Skoodge shrugged.

“This kind of… relationship, I guess? It’s not normal for us. I’ve never known an irken to, eh, _couple_ the way Zim did with you. I’m just trying to understand it.”

Dib blushed, and then he swallowed.

“So, what, no one in all of irken history ever had a relationship before?”

“If they had, it doesn’t show up in any of our records.”

Dib leaned back against the bench and hugged himself. He chewed his lip. 

“How did this happen, then?” he wondered. 

Next to him, Skoodge giggled.

“What?” asked Dib. 

“Oh, this is just so typical Zim. You know, he always just does what he wants.”

Dib listened to Skoodge’s sniffly little laugh and considered this. He took a deep breath.

“If you’re wondering what I think,” said Skoodge eventually, “I think you’ll do well on this mission. And, you know, we have time. You can figure all of this out. Lard Nar is an excellent teacher, and he’ll make sure you’re ready when the time comes.”

Dib hummed. 

“And, with Zim… I don’t know. I can’t offer you any advice. I just know he wants to make it up to you,” said Skoodge.

Dib knew this was true. But a painful twist in his stomach told him that he didn’t want Zim making it up to him. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, thanks for taking me on this walk. It really helped me clear my head.” 

It hadn’t, but Dib was suddenly very tired, and the sun was setting, and he just wanted to lie in bed and think for a long time. 

“No problem,” said Skoodge. “Just, do me a favor? When we get back?”

Dib looked over in surprise.

“Sure, uh, what?”

Skoodge cleared his throat. He cracked his knuckles, one at a time, before looking at Dib.

“I don’t know what kind of impression you got of Tenn,” started Skoodge, and Dib felt himself blush, “but she’s not, you know… she’s not, uh, doing anything with Zim. She’s actually really cool, and she worked really hard to help Zim track you down _and_ get the Resisty to agree to invite you to join. Just, you know, maybe think about that?” 

Dib chewed on a fingernail as he listened to Skoodge talk. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, the word garbled around his finger, “you’re right. I’ll, uh, try to be better about that.”

“I don’t know what Zim’s robot told you, but he really is _not_ —”

“Yeah, no, I know, I was just… being dumb. You’re right, I just… I don’t know.”

Skoodge stood up, and Dib followed. They started walking through the park, back to the Resisty’s looming Headquarters.

“I’ll apologize,” said Dib moodily. 

Next to him, Skoodge clapped.

“Well, that’s great! That’s a step in the right direction,” he said, following with a hard slap to Dib’s back. 

Dib just groaned.

 

**ii.**

Despite the fact that Skoodge was pretty clueless about human emotions, Dib was confident that they might become decent friends. Unfortunately, Skoodge was only on planet for the SpOps meeting, and he left the next day to continue the Resisty’s recruiting efforts on Libraria. Dib had offered to come, but Skoodge had reminded him of his new duties to the Resisty. So, Dib pulled himself together as best as he could and read through the entire folder of mission information he’d found shoved under his bedroom door. Then, he got to work.

He spent most of his first few days on Meekrob with Lard Nar, who was technically his supervisor. For the next nine weeks leading up to the mission, Lard Nar would teach Dib the ins and outs of the highest-level Irken and Vortian tech. Dib would also get an in-depth course on the Massive, its functions, and its security. 

To Dib’s surprise, the two of them got along okay. Even if Lard Nar had a short fuse and was prone to bursts of panic, Dib found that he was actually a pretty good teacher. Plus, somehow, Lard Nar’s nervous energy made Dib calm. With every passing day, he felt better and better about the upcoming mission. He also realized that, like with most things, he was a fast learner, and even Lard Nar was impressed with how quickly he was memorizing the Massive’s layout and security systems. 

He was still terrified, of course, but he was steadily growing less terrified. And that’s what matters. 

He found Tenn and apologized to her, and, to his annoyance, she accepted his apology graciously. As much as he wanted to hate her, even Dib had to admit that Tenn was an incredibly decent person. She was busy, of course, but she checked in on Dib and Lard Nar on occasion, just for the sake of providing some encouragement. She asked Dib to come to her office any time he wanted to talk, and Dib agreed to stop by when he had time. 

He learned his way around Headquarters, and realized that it wasn’t actually as labyrinthine as he’d previously thought — it was just a big building, designed to accommodate thousands of different types of species. Sometimes, he found himself just admiring the way different cultures wove together to create this building, this whole city. One day, his curiosity go the better of him, and he asked Lard Nar to introduce him to the first species to call this planet home. 

So, he met the Meekrob, a collective hivemind species. Dib found it difficult to wrap his head around the fact that talking to one member of the race was the same as talking to any other, but the few conversations he had with them were fascinating. They talked about the planet Meekrob, and Dib learned that it had begun as a water planet that developed land as a result of its millions of active volcanos. He learned that Resisty City had been built in the middle of a huge lake in order to keep its residents safe from potential eruptions. He spoke with the Meekrob about their culture, their war with Irk, and gormaganders. 

He connected with the other members of SpOps, and found that they were all as welcoming as Skoodge had been. Even Axon was relatively friendly, although one of his three heads wouldn’t stop calling Dib “puny,” which he didn’t appreciate. 

Still, when Dib wasn’t in Lard Nar’s lab, he often found that he was by himself. Everyone in SpOps worked constantly or had an internal clock that was way off from Dib’s, and Skoodge was gone, so, for the first week with the Resisty, Dib found himself eating his meals alone, wandering Resisty City alone, and going to bed alone. He would use his communicator to text with Skoodge on occasion, but he also didn’t want to be bothersome. 

Zim chased him down constantly, asking to eat lunch together, to play video games, or to just hang out. Every interaction went the same: Zim would offer an activity, Dib would reject him, and they would argue. Eventually, Zim started to leave him alone, although Dib found that he was always… around, whether Dib be outside or in Headquarters. Before going to sleep, Dib sometimes checked under his bed, just to make sure Zim wasn’t there, spying on him. 

He knew Zim just wanted to make things right. He also knew that he missed Zim terribly and wanted to talk to him again. For reasons that were becoming less and less convincing, though, Dib kept Zim at arm’s length, even as his own loneliness started to creep back up on him.

 

He was almost surprised to see the flyer that had been shoved under his door while he was at work, but, really, nothing Zim did could really surprise him these days. Just a week after they landed on Meekrob, Dib found himself staring at a pink sheet of paper advertising a _Mysterious Mysteries_ viewing in the recreation room later that night. Dib crumpled the flyer into a ball and tossed it in the trash. 

The next day, the same flyer, with an amended date, was shoved under Dib’s door while he was lying on his bed, reading an owners’ manual for Zhook Cruisers that Lard Nar had assigned him. He ignored that one, too. A few minutes after the viewing was scheduled to start, he heard a knock on his door. 

To his surprise, a floating grey cone greeted him.

“Hey, Dib, how’s it going?” 

“Oh, uh, hi, Shloonktapooxis. Going good, how are you?” 

Shloonktapooxis, as cheerful and Dib remembered, smiled wide.

“Going great! There’s a showing of an Earth program downstairs tonight, do you want to come watch with me? I figured you could answer any questions I might have.”

Dib felt his stomach twist, knowing that this was probably something Zim had cooked up to get Dib to socialize more. He frowned, annoyed that Zim couldn’t leave him alone even when he was leaving him alone. 

“Look, Shloonktapooxis, you really don’t have to—”

“If you come down and watch with me, I’ll give you a tour of the arsenal tomorrow,” said Shloonktapooxis, his eyebrows waggling. “I’ll even let you shoot a couple of plasma blasters… maybe even a Sonic X-4… if you want.”

Well. That _did_ sound like fun. And, Shloonktapooxis seemed like a pretty cool and amicable guy. Alright, why not?

“Okay,” said Dib, and Shloonktapooxis’s grin spread even wider across his face.

He and Shloonktapooxis were the only two who had shown up for the screening, although Dib wasn’t surprised. He had never been to the recreation room before, but he figured that a showing of _Mysterious Mysteries_ probably didn’t draw the biggest crowds. Dib didn’t really care. The three episodes that he and Shloonktapooxis watched over the next hour were three of Dib’s favorites (one, an investigation of Pigboy, had even been filmed at his skool). He and Shloonktapooxis talked and joked throughout the entire program, and Dib explained cryptids (and pigs) while Shloonktapooxis listened and asked enthusiastic questions. 

It was at the end of the second episode that Dib looked up in time to see the screen go dark. Before the credits rolled, he saw his reflection in the television, as well as Shloonktapooxis’s, and, behind, them, a familiar irken was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. When Dib turned around, Zim had already disappeared. Dib turned back to answer a question Shloonktapooxis had asked, and he let himself get distracted, at least a little, from the quick flutter he felt at making eye contact with Zim through the black screen of the television. 

 

He and Shloonktapooxis spent a lot more time together over the next couple of weeks. They goofed around with weapons in the arsenal, played video games together in the recreation room, and walked the perimeter of Resisty City. Dib found that Shloonktapooxis was a little zany and definitely overenthusiastic, but he was still fun to talk to, and Dib appreciated his positivity. Since he and Shloonktapooxis became friends, Dib found that his own mood had improved drastically, and he began to feel less and less alone.

One thing that Dib didn’t appreciate, though, were the early morning jogs that Shloonktapooxis insisted they go on.

It had started one day, completely out of the blue. He’d shown up, unannounced, at Dib’s door, waking him and insisting he get dressed. He’d made Dib run the indoor track for half an hour, and then he’d dropped Dib off at the locker room and left. 

Dib had to doubt that there was any exertion on Shloonktapooxis’s behalf whatsoever. He was just as energetic once their half-hour of running (or, in his case, floating) was over as he’d been when he showed up at Dib’s door that morning. What was more annoying was the fact that he wouldn’t even tell Dib why they were doing it. When Dib had asked, Shloonktapooxis had shrugged off his question with a simple, “I don’t know. Endorphins, right?” 

“I mean… I guess so,” said Dib. “Couldn’t we at least run outside, where there’s more to look at?”

“Nah,” said Shloonktapooxis, and that was that.

Even though he was skeptical of Shloonktapooxis’s newfound love of making him exercise, Dib realized that it actually _was_ making him feeling better. He’d never been that into running, but Shloonktapooxis was a good coach, which made it kind of fun. And, hey, he could stand to get a little fitter, anyway. 

Of course, Dib should have known something was up, but he didn’t realize it until one day, when the two of them had finished and were just walking the track and chatting. He had been admiring the Headquarters gym, with its multiple weight rooms, SIR Unit obstacle courses, and martial arts rooms, all of which were visible from the indoor track through big windows lining the walls. When Dib glanced up, he noticed someone sparring with Axon in one of the martial arts rooms on the floor above them, and he felt his face get hot. 

“Something wrong?” asked Shloonktapooxis. “Your face is pink again.”

“No,” muttered Dib. “Just, uh, tired from the run.”

Later that day, Dib found the sparring room he’d seen Zim in and checked its sign-out sheet. Interestingly enough, Zim and Axon had a standing reservation for the same hourlong slot every morning. 

The next day, Dib was waiting for Shloonktapooxis outside his room. They ran for forty-five minutes instead of their usual thirty, Dib glancing up every time he was within sight of Zim. He didn’t realize how much more quickly he was running, and he didn’t even really listen as Shloonktapooxis offered him surprised encouragement. 

This went on for some time, and, one day, Zim noticed him back. 

He didn’t do anything but stare down at Dib until Dib and Shloonktapooxis turned a corner, but Dib felt something in himself shift in that moment, the first moment they really looked at each other in weeks.

 

**iii.**

Even with Shloonktapooxis around, Dib still found himself missing Zim. It was difficult not to, with Zim nearby, in the cafeteria, the gym, the lab next door to his, the city at night. It was like he was so close, but still beyond his reach. And, Dib knew that he was the reason they weren't talking. So, he tried his best not to get too angry when he saw that Zim was with Tenn, getting breakfast, just the two of them. He tried not to be upset when he left Lard Nar’s lab late at night and overheard Zim’s voice coming from Tenn’s office. Really, he knew Skoodge had been right. The chances of anything romantic going between Zim and Tenn was pretty unlikely.

Still, Dib didn’t like feeling replaced.

Although, if Dib were being honest, it was difficult to tell if he’d been replaced by Tenn or by GIR.

As far as Dib knew, Zim was never without GIR. Dib wasn’t really sure how it worked with SIR Units, but, really, he had to imagine there was normally a little more professionalism than what Zim and GIR had. Zim walked around with GIR on his head, on his shoulders, in his arms, hanging off his boot. Dib had seen Zim carry a sleeping GIR around multiple times. He didn’t even know SIRs slept. Zim let GIR eat his food, play on his tablet, and just generally make a mess of all his stuff. And, as annoyed as Zim seemed about it, there was never any discipline. He just… let GIR keep making messes. It annoyed Dib how confusing it was to see Zim, a total control freak, just let his SIR run rampant and do whatever he wanted. 

Being replaced by Tenn, an elite soldier and interesting person, would be frustrating. Being replaced by GIR was just demoralizing.

It had never really affected Dib too much, though, until one day when he was eating lunch.

Shloonktapooxis’s weapons training ran long that day, so Dib was eating lunch on his own. For the second day in a row, the cafeteria was serving Vort Dogs, which Dib had to imagine was Zim’s doing. But, honestly, Dib appreciated it. He appreciated Zim for at least attempting to give him space when he’d asked for it, and he also knew that his newfound friendship with Shloonktapooxis had been Zim’s work as well. He knew that the recreation room in his dormitory showed Earth movies every week because Zim had requested it. He knew that, if he wanted to, he could find Zim at any time and make things right. 

On this day, though, Zim found him. At least, his robot did. 

Dib was clicking around on his communicator when he heard the sound of the chair next to his being pushed back. He looked up in time to see GIR army-crawling across the table toward him. He watched as GIR plopped itself down and started eating Vort Dogs off Dib’s plate like a starved dog.

“Uh, okay,” he said. “You can have that.”

Dib watched as GIR finished his lunch, then sat up and burped. It pounded its chest a couple of times, burped again, and then coughed.

“Where does all of that food you eat even go, anyway?” wondered Dib aloud.

He got his answer in the form of an opened chest panel and a shower of half-chewed Vort Dogs.

“Are you—?” Dib coughed and sputtered, wiping food out of his eyes, his whole face going hot with anger. “Are you kidding—?”

“ _GIR_!” Dib heard, and he looked up just in time to see Zim stomping toward them.

Zim swept GIR up in his arms, and GIR giggled madly. Dib didn’t know what to do, so he just accepted the napkin that Zim was offering and continued to wipe off.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I lost him for a second. I didn’t think he’d come bother you, I just— argh, and he ate all your food…”

Dib kept wiping at his face as he listened to Zim yell at his robot about eating and then regurgitating other people’s food. When he was finally done, he looked up to see Zim standing next to him, GIR tucked under his arm like a football. 

“I really am sorry. I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine,” said Dib, and it really was.

He wasn’t even that surprised to realize how happy he was to be talking to Zim again.

“It… it is?” asked Zim, suspicious.

“Yeah,” said Dib with a chuckle. “I’ll consider it payback for me kissing you on Foodcourtia.”  


Zim blushed deeply, and then he stammered through a reply. GIR kept giggling.

“Well,” said Dib after a beat of silence. “Okay, then.” 

“Uh,” said Zim, looking behind himself and then back at Dib. “Are you enjoying your food?”

“I mean… I was.”

“Right! Well, you know, if you want, I can go grab you some more?”

Dib felt his teeth clench at the offer, and, suddenly, a hot bitterness washed over him.

“You don’t have to get me food, Zim, it’s really fine.” 

“It’s no trouble, I mean, GIR really—”

“I said, it’s fine.” 

Zim visibly gulped. He took a quick step away from Dib, searching his face. 

“What do you want, then?” he asked.

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll get it for you. Whatever it is, just… just tell me what you want.” 

“Zim—”

“Is it the hot sauce? You like that, right? I could get you some of that, there’s some around here somewhere—”

“Zim, no. Stop,” said Dib, and he felt himself getting frustrated.

“It’s no trouble, I can really just—”

“I don’t want hot sauce. The stuff here sucks anyway. It’s not even hot,” said Dib. 

It was true. The hot sauce on Meekrob was pretty tragic.  


“You want different stuff? What would you prefer?”

Dib rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“How about some of that famous, house-made Shloogorgh’s hot sauce? The really spicy stuff. Why don’t you get me some of that?” he asked, hoping his glare would sufficiently convey his sarcasm.

Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure Shloogorgh's didn't even exist anymore, and asking Zim to pick up their hot sauce would be like asking him to stop by Earth and grab him a dodo bird.

“That… that’s what you want?”

“Yeah, Zim. That’s what I want. Hot sauce.” 

 

Zim wasn’t around the next day, and Dib wasn’t sure why. He didn’t care, though. He was still annoyed about the whole hot sauce conversation from the day before. 

It frustrated him how desperate Zim was to do things for him. Zim should be mad at him. He should be pointing fingers and ranting about how horrible Dib was, how he was selfish and insensitive and arrogant. That was what Dib deserved. Why was Zim so bad at this?

Well, that wasn’t fair. Dib was obviously bad at this, too. 

He picked at his Vort Dogs, which the cafeteria was serving for the third day in a row, not really listening as Shloonktapooxis explained the history of plasma-based ammunition.

“Uh, hello? Dib? Where’d you go?” he heard, and he looked up to see Shloonktapooxis staring at him from the other side of their dinner table.

“Sorry,” said Dib. “Spaced out for a second. What’s up?”

Shloonktapooxis squinted.

“Nothing. I was just telling you some super-cool trivia about plasma pistols, which _you_ had asked _me_ about.”

“I’m sorry! I got distracted. Please continue.”

Shloonktapooxis stared at him, and Dib felt his face get hot.

“What?”

“Do you wanna talk about it, or what?”

“Talk about what?” asked Dib, and Shloonktapooxis sighed.

“Why haven’t you asked me about Zim?” he asked.

Dib pursed his lips, his face, somehow, getting even hotter.

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”

Shloonktapooxis stared at him for a second.

“Do you think we’re friends?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Dib quickly, “of course.”

“So, you know you can talk to me about this stuff if you want to. I’m happy to offer some advice.”

Dib considered this. There was the possibility that Zim had arranged for Shloonktapooxis to mine information from him. But that seemed unlikely; Dib had been on Meekrob for weeks and Shloonktapooxis was just now asking. 

There was also the possibility that Shloonktapooxis was genuinely concerned about Dib’s wellbeing. This… wasn’t so unlikely. Shloonktapooxis, while seemingly carefree, showed real concern for Dib. He was the one who’d gotten Dib weekly sparring time with his friend Ixane: a Shoran who beat Dib’s ass regularly and without mercy. He was the one who dragged Dib downtown and encouraged him to meet other Resisty members, make new friends, and try to get out of his own head for a few hours. He was the one who gave Dib advice on dealing with Lard Nar’s occasional hissy fits. 

So, maybe Shloonktapooxis really did just want to help.

Dib took a deep breath.

“I’m just not really sure where to go from here,” he said. 

Shloonktapooxis hummed. 

“Well, what are you thinking?” he asked. 

Dib shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said. “I want things to be like before, but I know that can’t happen, because everything sucked before and I just hadn’t realized it—”

“Do you want to try again?” asked Shloonktapooxis.

Dib bit his lip.

“What if it’s the same as before?”

“What if it’s not?” 

“I just… I can’t risk being lied to again. I couldn’t handle it going through all that again.” 

“Well, okay,” said Shloonktapooxis with a huff. “Guard your heart, I guess.”

“Excuse me?” asked Dib. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Dib, I really don’t know you that well,” said Shloonktapooxis. “But you came all the way to Meekrob to join the Resisty because Zim asked you to.”

“Wha— Yeah? So?” asked Dib. 

“The way I see it,” said Shloonktapooxis, “if you’re going to risk your life to fight the entire Empire, but you won’t even have a conversation with Zim, then your priorities are _way_ out of wack.” 

Dib crossed his arms and glared.

“What if I’m still mad at him?”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know!” said Dib, and he meant it. “Maybe! What if!”

Shloonktapooxis sighed.

“I’m not saying you have to jump back into a relationship with him, Dib. But, maybe, you could just talk? Try to sort through this, together?” 

Dib pursed his lips.

“I’m just asking you if this, how you’re feeling right now, is the better option.”

“Better than going crawling back to him? And letting him win? Yeah, I would definitely say this is better,” snapped Dib. 

Shloonktapooxis gave him a tired look. Dib held his ground.

“Do you really feel like you’re winning right now?” asked Shloonktapooxis.

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes! Obviously.” 

Shloonktapooxis sighed again.

“Maybe you should reevaluate what it means to win in this situation, then. Making yourself miserable just to spite Zim sounds like something a loser would do.”

Dib looked up at Shloonktapooxis with a surprised scoff. Shloonktapooxis tilted toward him, an expectant look on his face.

“I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings. I’m just wondering if, maybe, you haven’t thought this through.” 

Dib gritted his teeth. He thought about the _Mysterious_ _Mysteries_ showings. He thought about the Vort Dogs. He thought about Zim, going out of his way to make sure Dib had someone, even if it wasn’t him, to talk to. He thought about the pictures, the sweatshirt, the hours of conversation on _The Mothman_. He thought about Cyberflox, about their last conversation on their way to Irk: of Zim, tearfully asking Dib to lock himself away, to make himself as safe as possible. 

“You can’t change what already happened,” said Shloonktapooxis quietly, “but you can learn from it. It won’t be the same this time if you don’t let it.” 

Dib wiped a stray tear from his cheek and smiled at Shloonktapooxis. 

“I didn’t realize you were so invested in mine and Zim’s relationship,” he sniffed.

Shloonktapooxis laughed. “Really,” he said, “I’m just hoping that you guys making up will make the menu around here go back to normal.” 

 

Dib was eating lunch on his own the next day (Vort Dogs, again), when a cafeteria bot approached his table and dropped about fifty hot sauce packets in front of him.

Upon further inspection, Dib realized that this was, in fact, the same hot sauce that was offered exclusively at Shloogorgh’s Flavor Monster. He even opened a packet and tasted some, just to make sure, and found that it was the real deal. 

He felt a flood of different emotions hit him all at once, and then he actually felt himself start to laugh. 

And, in a moment that felt like waking up, Dib realized he wasn’t angry anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shloonktapooxis: Love Doctor.


	16. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Here I go again. My, my, how can I resist ya?" - ABBA

**i.**

Dib felt eyes on him, and he looked up to see Zim, on the other side of the room, standing next to the salad bar and staring at him. He looked back at the mess of hot sauce on his table, then back at Zim. With a sigh, he pulled back the chair next to his, looked Zim dead in the eye, and patted the seat. 

Zim was by his side in an instant, his antennae straight and high on his head. They stared at each other for a brief second. Zim cleared his throat and sat down, then scooted forward in his chair.

“How did you get this?” asked Dib. 

“Did you taste it?” asked Zim.

“Yeah, I did. How did you get it?”

“It’s the real stuff. It’s not fake.”

“I know.”

“It’s the Shloogorgh’s stuff, just like you asked for.” 

“Zim, I— I wasn’t asking for this,” said Dib, looking at the table. 

“But, you said—”

“I was… joking. I didn’t really… seriously, Zim, how the hell did you get this stuff?”

“I went to Foodcourtia.”

Dib stared. 

“You went _back_ to Foodcourtia? Yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“ _Why_?”

“You asked me to!”

“So, what, how did you get the sauce, then?” asked Dib, his head spinning.

“Snuck into Shloogorgh’s,” said Zim with a shrug.

“It’s still there?” asked Dib. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Zim, flippant. “Of course.”

“Who’s running it?”

“Uh,” Zim looked around. “Sizz-Lorr?”

“Wh— is he not dead? The— the rock thing—”

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” said Zim. “I saw him. Gashloog, too. They’re fine.”

Dib felt his jaw drop.

“I watched Gashloog get ripped in half.”

Zim gave a nonchalant shrug.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Zim said.

Dib looked down at the table of hot sauce packets. More evidence to support his theory that irkens really were impossible to kill.

“Did they see you? When you went back yesterday?”

Zim grinned.

“Of course not. I was far too stealthy to be caught. Plus, I had Skoodge to do all the really tricky stuff.”

“You made Skoodge help you with this?” asked Dib, his face getting hot. “He’s supposed to be recruiting!”

“He took a day off to help me out!” snapped Zim. “I thought you’d be happy about this! You asked for this!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Jesus, Zim,” said Dib, a sudden wave of guilt washing over him. “I wasn’t being serious! I didn’t ask you to go back to Foodcourtia and almost get yourself caught again! You think I’d really want you to go waste time, take away from _our_ mission, and risk everything just for some fucking hot sauce? How much sense does that make?”

Next to him, Zim’s expression changed from annoyance to confusion to pure melancholy. He buried his face in his hands.

Dib caught himself. This wasn’t supposed to be what happened. But, still. Zim had risked _everything_ , just because Dib had made one sarcastic request. That was messed up. He swallowed as he watched Zim’s shoulders shake softly. 

“Zim—”

“I just want to make it up to you and you’re not _letting me_ ,” whispered Zim, his face still hidden in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” said Dib quietly, and he meant it. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just… surprised. Thank you for getting me this.” 

Zim looked up, his face twisted in annoyance, twin tear streaks still visible on his face.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not! I’m being serious.”

“No, you aren’t,” sniffed Zim. “You’re mocking me.”

If possible, Dib felt guiltier. He put a hand on the back of Zim's chair and watch Zim twitch at the proximity.

“I promise, I’m not mocking you. I just… I wish you hadn’t risked getting stuck on Foodcourtia again just so I could have a fucking condiment. I didn’t want you — or Skoodge, for that matter — getting hurt or getting in trouble over this.”

“Then what do you want, Dib?”

Dib considered this. He wanted a lot of things. He wanted to resolve this messiness between him and Zim. He wanted to understand why Zim was bending over backwards to make him happy after he’d been the most inconsiderate person in the entire universe. He wanted to find some common ground, to have an honest conversation, finally, about what they’d done. He wanted to forgive and be forgiven. He wanted to move on. 

He wanted Zim.

But, he knew that there was a long road of difficult conversations ahead of them. And, on top of that, a revolution that was coming in just a few weeks. He couldn’t forget his duties to the Resisty, and he couldn’t let Zim almost throw the mission again in his quest to win back Dib’s favor. He took a deep breath and looked at Zim, trying to think of how best to initiate peace without promising a romantic reunion.

“I want to be friends.” 

Zim looked surprised, but then he nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s be friends.”

 

**ii.**

Dib wondered if being friends with Zim would be difficult. He found that it wasn’t. In fact, they fell back into friendship quickly and smoothly. Dib knew why: because friendship with Zim meant talking about science, going downtown, tinkering in Zim’s lab, and trying to teach GIR new tricks. It was superficial and fun, but it wasn’t what they needed. They still hadn’t really talked about what had happened during their last few weeks on _The Mothman_. They hadn’t talked about what would come next.

If anything came next, of course. There were still a hundred odds to beat before the Empire fell. There were still serious risks for both Zim and Dib going into this. And while Dib stayed up late at night, fighting the urge to fall asleep and risk having another chaotic, catastrophic nightmare about the mission, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of danger Zim was putting himself in for the sake of Irk's freedom. The more he thought about Zim connecting himself to the Brains, releasing a virus into their system, the more anxious he felt. What if it backfired, and something happened to Zim? What if irkens weren't actually  _that_ impossible to kill?

So, Dib decided not to push the issue one way or another. Because, why bring up old wounds if they only had a few weeks left before the mission? And, on that same note, why even attempt reconciliation when Dib might just be alone, again, once all this was over? Why put himself through the heartache again?

Even so, Dib knew that reconciliation was no guarantee, which brought about his final, most pressing fear: what if they _did_ overthrow the Empire, and Zim _did_ survive connecting his PAK to the Brains, but… what if the damage was already done, impossible to repair? What if there was no going forward from what Zim had done? What Dib had done?

So, Dib resolved to just enjoy the final few weeks of intense studying and preparation for what they were. There really was no point in apologizing, in forgiving, if he or Zim was just going to die soon. There was no point in trying to reunite, to fall back in love, if they didn’t have a future.

As if Dib weren’t still hopelessly, painfully in love.

 

“What’s this?” asked Zim.

Dib opened his eyes and turned his head to see Zim lying on his side, poking at a dark spot on his arm.

“A freckle,” said Dib.

“Explain.”

Dib sat up a bit, leaning on the arm that Zim was currently fixated on. 

“It’s from the sun,” he said. “Doesn’t your skin change color from sun exposure?”

“No,” said Zim.

“Oh, well, look…”

Dib pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder, exposing a newly-developed tan line. 

“See, human skin gets darker from being in the sun. And, sometimes, we get freckles.”

Zim hummed in interest, and Dib noticed that his arms actually _had_ gotten pretty tan in the time they’d spent lying on their backs in the grass, digesting the giant picnic that they’d packed for a quick lunch in their favorite downtown park. 

He lay back down again, enjoying the cool breeze that ruffled through his hair. Soon, they’d have to pack back up and head to Headquarters, where Zim had promised to help Dib install the appropriate Vortian cloaking hardware into _The Mothman_. For now, though, Dib actually found himself dozing off a little bit, lying on his back with the breeze ruffling his hair. He felt Zim’s finger on his arm again, and he opened his eyes.

“What?” he asked.

Zim just shrugged.

“I like it,” he said.

Dib watched Zim trace lines between the freckles on his arm, and he thought, for the hundredth time, how easy it would be to just give in. Just lean forward and plant one quick kiss on Zim’s cheek, or his mouth, maybe, and then be done with it. But, he knew that initiating anything like that would just lead to further complicating this new, uncertain friendship they’d built. And, for some reason, that felt more important than all the other reasons why Dib wasn’t letting himself be pulled back in. 

“Where did this come from?” asked Zim, and Dib was snapped back to reality.

Zim was pointing to a large bruise by Dib’s elbow.

“Ixane,” said Dib softly.

Zim looked up quickly. “Sparring?”

“Yeah.”

Zim pursed his lips, then rolled onto his front, dragging his eyes from Dib’s arm to the grass in front of him. He combed his fingers through it, and Dib watched, feeling guilty.

“She’s so mean to me,” he said, hoping to defuse the new, dark mood so clear on Zim’s face. “It’s like she has a vendetta against me, personally.”

Zim hummed, half interested.

“She’s a good teacher,” said Zim.

Dib swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, “she is.” 

Zim looked up suddenly, meeting Dib’s gaze.

“And you’re probably just upset because I used to go easy on you,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Excuse me,” said Dib, happy to take the bait. “I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

“It’s completely true. I didn’t want to hurt your soft, fleshy body.” 

Dib didn’t know why he did it, but he lifted his other arm over his head and flexed it as hard as he could.

“Not so soft, now, though, is it?” he asked, grinning.

Zim just looked at him, his eyes glazed over with disinterest until he looked back up at Dib’s arm, flexed to show just the slightest hint of muscle. His face flushed, and he quickly looked back at his hands. 

“I guess not,” he said, and Dib felt his stomach clench.

He simultaneously loved and hated days like these, when the tension rose and dropped constantly and without warning. It made him feel like something was going to happen.

Zim ripped up a handful of soft, sweet-smelling grass and tossed it in Dib’s face. Dib sputtered, then rolled onto his own belly, his shoulder almost touching Zim’s.

“You’re a jerk,” he said, and Zim just smiled at him, that same wry, cocky smile that Dib had missed so much when they were apart.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, playing with the grass and the weeds, neither wanting to initiate the walk back to Headquarters. They said nothing, listening to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the gushing of a small stream just a foot or two ahead of them. From across the stream, Dib could see his favorite tree: its trunk a muddy red color, its branches hanging down to the ground, bending with the weight of its translucent, teardrop-shaped leaves. When the wind blew, the leaves clinked against each other like wind chimes.

Zim reached forward and plucked a small, lilac-colored flower from a bunch that was growing near the stream in front of them. He offered it to Dib.

“Do you want this?” he asked.

Dib looked at it: small but pretty, with thin, delicate petals.

“Do you want me to have it?” he asked, uncertain.

“Only if you want it,” said Zim.

“I don’t know what I’d do with it,” Dib confessed.

“Okay,” said Zim, and he chucked the flower into the stream. Dib watched it float away.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, Dib watching as Zim started to dig up the grass in front of him. 

Behind him, he could hear GIR. He looked over his shoulder to see the SIR climbing up a tree, chasing after some rodent-looking animal.

He looked back over to see that Zim was still scooping up dirt.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Trying to see how deep this goes,” said Zim.

Dib watched Zim continue to dig, then give up, then use a PAK arm to sweep all of his dug-up grass and dirt back into the hole he’d made.

“It probably goes pretty deep, right?” asked Dib.

Zim moved, shifting so that he was sitting cross-legged, next to Dib, his elbows on his knees. Dib rolled onto his back.

“Not as deep as you’d think,” said Zim. “This is all pretty new, still.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dib.

“You know that this whole island was terraformed, right?” asked Zim, looking down at Dib with one eye squinted.

Dib shrugged.

“Kind of. I know it was built in this lake to keep us safe from the volcanoes around here.”

“Yes, well,” said Zim. “the majority of this island is composed of volcanic rock. Not suitable for sustaining life. Of course, the Meekrob live here, as do a number of aquatic species, but no plant-eating land animal can live on this planet. So, no animal-eating land animal can live here, either. There’s just not enough soil to make it sustainable.” 

“Right,” said Dib, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up at Zim. “How’d you get the dirt for this, then?”

“I wasn’t here for it,” said Zim. “But Tenn tells me they dug deep, below the rock, and found soil that had been buried, years ago, before the earthquake that triggered the growth of all these volcanoes. From small islands, ones that no one even knew had been there.”

“Wow,” said Dib. “That’s some old dirt.”

Zim looked down at him, amused, before going on.

“It took some work, but the Meekrob are extremely capable. They built this island, using the rock as the base and this exact dirt as its crust. It took time, and lots of hard work, but, eventually, this island was able to host life. It invited life, even… grass would grow, and then trees, and then the Resisty came, and they built this city with the help of the Meekrob. Someday, as the volcanoes go dormant, I think the whole planet could be like this.” 

Zim leaned back on his palms, and Dib sat up, following him. Zim, who looked like he was going to keep talking, said nothing.

“That would be cool,” offered Dib.

“I hope Irk can be like this, someday,” said Zim suddenly. “Right now, it’s just… metal. Like Foodcourtia. It’s all synthetic.” 

Dib hummed in acknowledgement. Zim, who had been looking out into the distance, looked at Dib.

“It would be nice to see a tree or two, I guess. If we get Irk back, that’s what I want to do with it. Tear up all the metal and let it breathe again.”

“Back from who?” asked Dib. “The Tallest?” 

Zim shook his head.

“The Brains,” he explained. “They’re the ones who made Irk like it is. At least, they gave the orders, thousands of years ago.”

Dib hummed again, curious to see if Zim would go on.

“I just think it would be nice,” said Zim, his fingers digging into the dirt as he spoke, “to bring life back to Irk, to make it its own planet again, not just another tool for the Brains to use as they wish.”

“It _will_ be nice,” corrected Dib.

Zim looked back at Dib and smiled.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “It will be nice.”

They looked at each other, and Dib felt that urge again, that unspeakable, impossible to ignore urge to grab Zim and kiss him. Instead, he thought about what Zim had said about bringing life back to Irk. 

“It won’t be the same as it was,” said Dib quietly. “It’ll be different, right?”

Zim shrugged. 

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s necessarily a bad thing.” 

Dib wondered if Zim was overthinking this as much as he was, digging like the Meekrob, not for dirt, but for subtext. He wondered if Zim was giving him clues, offering him ways to repair the damage that he’d done. Zim was already trying, he’d apologized, he’d told Dib explicitly that he wanted a relationship, sex, all that stuff. But Dib hadn’t. 

Zim wanted to see life on Irk grow back. He wanted to bring life back to Irk. He wanted to be with Dib.

Dib wanted that too, but he was so mixed up, so confused about how he felt about all of this, that he was just sitting still, letting Meekrob’s volcanic rock solidify on top of him. 

He wondered, for the first time, if it would be better to lose Zim when they were in this strange period of stasis. Would it be, or would it be worse that losing Zim the way he’d lost him last time? Heartbroken and volatile and desperate. Was there really a difference, he wondered, if he loved Zim now, just as much as he’d loved him back then? Was he really protecting himself, or Zim, for that matter? Or was he just wasting more time, spinning his wheels in the hope that Zim would just tell Dib he didn’t have to apologize, they didn’t have to talk, they could just put it all aside and go forward like it had never happened? Was that even what Dib wanted? 

Zim stood, noting that they should get going back to Headquarters soon, if they wanted to get all of the cloaking programming installed today. He walked off, Dib’s backpack filled with empty soda cans and sandwich wrappers slung over his shoulder, and started yelling for GIR to get down from the tree he’d climbed. Dib watched GIR fall from the tree, watched Zim pick him up and dust him off, watched Zim turn to look at him, expectation written all over his face. 

He got up and untied the sleeves up his jumpsuit from around his waist, then slipped his arms in and zipped himself back up. He checked to make sure his communicator was still secure on his breast before dusting himself off and following Zim out of the park. 

 

**iii.**

Dib sat in the pilot’s seat of _The Mothman_ , Lard Nar standing over him. 

“Okay, let’s see here…” 

With a few quick keystrokes, Dib was establishing a link with the imitation power core that Lard Nar had designed. He typed away on _The Mothman_ ’s updated keyboard, his eyes darting across the screen as various firewalls, encryption keys, and alarms popped up and then disappeared. He glanced down only a few times, where he had his laptop in his lap, the schematics to the Massive on its screen. With each success, Lard Nar gave a thoughtful nod.

He ignored the cramping in his fingers as he installed a safeguard, smiling to himself at Lard Nar’s confused hum.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Installing a program of my own,” said Dib, unable to help the welling of pride in his chest. “This will scramble the signal on their end and make it look like I’ve locked onto the main navigation system, not the power core.”

He looked away from his work for a short second, grinning at Lard Nar.

“Our connection with the power core will be undetected, and it’ll give them a false lead on where the connection actually is. Should waste a ton of their time.” 

He turned back to his computer and continued to type until a tri-tone chime told him that he was into Lard Nar’s imitation power core and successfully controlling the Massive. He pressed a few buttons on the control panel and then switched from the keyboard to the yoke, jerking it left and right and smiling at the image onscreen of the Massive copying his movements.

“I’m in!” he said. “Did I beat my record?”

He looked over at Lard Nar, who was busily typing away on a tablet in front of him, his horns wiggling in agitation. 

“Lard Nar?” he asked, and the vortian looked up in surprise.

“Uh— What? What was that?” he asked.

“Did I beat my record?” repeated Dib.

“Oh! Oh, yes, sorry—” Lard Nar reached for his communicator and tapped it once. The hologram floating above it, a stopwatch, paused.

“Yes, well, it looks like you did,” said Lard Nar.

“Great!” said Dib. “Three weeks from now, I’ll be able to do it with my eyes closed.”

“Yes, well…” Lard Nar trailed off, and soon he was back on his tablet, tapping around on the screen. 

Dib watched, not sure what to say as Lard Nar muttered to himself. 

“Hey, is this about the program I installed? Is it bad? I just thought, you know, it might be a good idea…?”

Lard Nar didn’t answer, still muttering to himself, before finally giving up whatever he was doing and slamming his tablet onto the dashboard.

“Can I just see—?” he asked, leaning over Dib to take control of _The Mothman_ ’s computer. 

Dib watched Lard Nar escape the program they’d been using to test Dib’s Massive-hacking skills, then open Dib’s new security program. After a quick analysis that involved more muttering to himself, Lard Nar stepped back and stared at Dib.

“What?” asked Dib.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” said Lard Nar, “but Zim was right when he said that you were the only person capable of this task. Your skills in breaking through the Massive’s security system _and_ establishing a connection with the power core are impressive, but this…”

He gestured to Dib’s program, its code now taking up the entire windshield of _The Mothman_. 

“This is some of the most sophisticated, elegant programming I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive.”

Dib blushed at the compliment, and continued blushing as Lard Nar pointed to particularly impressive pieces of the code that Dib had spent that past week writing. As he often did, Lard Nar went on various tangents about the program, the mission, Dib, and the Empire, only stopping to take a couple of short breaths. 

“I need to show this to Tenn,” said Lard Nar. Then, as an afterthought: “Oh, wait, I might not want to.”

“Why not?” asked Dib.

“Well, if she sees this, then _she’ll_ want you, and I can’t just—”

“Wait, what?” asked Dib, feeling his face go hot.

“Listen, Dib,” said Lard Nar, his face suddenly very close to Dib’s. “You are going to be a very valuable commodity after this coup.”

Dib blinked a few times.

“Me? Really?”

“Yes,” said Lard Nar, his eyes narrowing behind his goggles. “Have you thought much about what you plan to do once all of this is over?”

Dib paused, realizing that he hadn’t.

“Uh,” he said. “No.”

“Well,” said Lard Nar. “If I’m not in jail or dead, I’ll be going back to Vort. In order to rebuild my planet, I’ll need a strong team of engineers to reestablish — and, honestly, improve — our systems. I need a group who can help me bring Vort back to its former glory. I’d like you to be part of that group.”

Dib’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Lard Nar, unable to process the fact that he’d just been offered a job. 

“I… Work with you? On Vort?”

“Yes,” said Lard Nar firmly. “Work with me. You don’t have to say yes right now. Just… just think about it, for now. Obviously, we don’t totally know what lies ahead of us. But, in the event that we succeed… Yes. I’d like to have you on my team.”

Dib felt his face break out into a smile. He’d never been offered a job before. It felt good.

“And,” added Lard Nar, pointing a finger at Dib’s program, “I’d also recommend you patent that.” 

Dib looked over, a quick laugh escaping his lips as he stared at his code. He looked back at Lard Nar just as a sad thought wormed its way into his brain.

“Thanks for the offer,” he said, hoping his smile hadn’t faltered much. “I’ll definitely consider it.”

“Excellent,” said Lard Nar, clapping a hand on Dib’s shoulder. “Good work for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Great,” said Dib. 

He popped open the windshield, making no indication that he was leaving as Lard Nar climbed out of his ship. 

“Something wrong?” asked Lard Nar. 

Dib frowned.

“Do you know much about the Control Brains?” asked Dib. “Like, their security and all that? What kinds of firewalls or… or… I don’t know, defenses do they have? I’ve already read the stuff on our databases. Just, uh, was wondering if you had any other information.” 

Lard Nar gave Dib a small, sympathetic smile, which Dib immediately resented. 

“I’ll admit, I don’t know much,” he said. “But I’ve got some information that I can share with you. I’ll send it to you later, once I’ve filled out today’s progress report.” 

“Okay,” said Dib. “Cool. Thanks.”

Lard Nar just gave him a small nod and left the garage. Dib sat back in his seat and chewed his lip. 

 

**iv.**

Zim had offered to help Dib replace the co-pilot’s chair in his ship. Dib couldn’t think of a reason why not, so, there they were, both sitting on the floor of _The Mothman_ ’s cockpit, attempting to build a new seat.

“Part H connects with part _I_ , not J,” said Dib for perhaps the fifth time.

“I know that,” said Zim sharply, his teeth grinding as he attempted to connect two armrests together. 

“So, then, you recognize that you’re trying to connect parts H and J together right now, though, right?” asked Dib, peering over his glasses. 

In response, Zim snatched the instruction pamphlet from Dib’s hand and crumpled it into a ball. He flung it against the back wall of the cockpit with a growl.

“This… _stupid_ … who even designs a chair like this?” growled Zim.

Dib just scooted forward on his knees, reaching for instructions and then the armrest.

“I can just do this, Zim, you don’t need to help,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a two-person job.”

Zim just growled, grabbing for the instructions again. 

“I read, you build,” he said.

“Okay,” said Dib, and they did.

It took about an hour, but, eventually, Dib had a new co-pilot’s seat. He sat in it to test it out while Zim watched, asking about lumbar support and the evenness of the armrests.

“It’s great,” said Dib, looking up at Zim with a smile. “Thanks again for helping me with it.” 

“Well,” said Zim, looking around, uncomfortably. “It was kind of my fault that it was broken in the first place.”

Dib looked up, surprised.

In the past couple of weeks since they’d become friends, they’d both been careful not to talk about what had happened. Even casual mentions of the good times they’d had on _The Mothman_ were kept to a minimum. Dib hadn’t minded it. He knew that this silent agreement was just meant to keep the peace, to ensure that they didn’t fall into a conversation they weren’t ready for. 

Zim cleared his throat, picking at his jumpsuit with one hand as he leaned on the back of the chair with the other. 

“I mean… I did break it,” he said slowly, shooting Dib a meaningful look.

“Yeah,” said Dib softly. “But, you know, it’s not… uh…” 

He let himself trail off, unsure of what to say.

“I just—” began Zim. “I just mean that I wanted to help you fix it because I broke it.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Dib softly. “That was, uh, what you had said.” 

“Right,” mumbled Zim. “I just… wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I know,” said Dib, and, without really thinking, he reached forward to pry Zim’s hand off his suit and hold it in his own. 

He felt Zim jump a little at the contact, but he held on, staring downward as he lightly massaged the back of Zim’s hand, slipping his fingers over the rubber of the glove before eventually just holding Zim by the elbow with one hand and using his other to pull the glove off. He looked up at Zim, hoping to get some confirmation that this was okay while, at the same time, hoping Zim would tell him to back off. 

Zim just looked down at him, his eyes half closed. He took a step closer.

Dib kept his eyes locked on Zim’s as he leaned back a little in his chair, then went back to inspecting Zim’s hand — the small, square palms, the long, smooth fingers, the chewed-up nails. He could practically feel Zim’s breath on him as he ran his thumb over Zim’s sweating palm.

Dib would be lying if he said the the attraction between him and Zim was easy to ignore. 

It wasn’t. 

Because he’d always been attracted to Zim, even before they really knew each other, even when they were fighting, even when he was so angry at him he could barely look at him. But, still, he was trying to be friends, to keep things simple, and this — the pounding in his chest, the heat in his face, the sweat, prickling along his hairline — this was anything but simple. 

He knew that, and he knew that Zim knew that, which was why they sat on opposite sides of the couch if they were in the recreation room, watching a movie or playing a video game. It was why they avoided touching each other, even now that they were on good terms. It was why they spent the majority of their time together in public, because Dib know what would happen if they were to watch _Mysterious Mysteries_ on his laptop, on his bed, alone in his room. He knew what would happen if GIR weren’t constantly hanging around them, making noise and killing any kind of mood. Speaking of which—

“Where’s GIR?” asked Dib, and he internally winced at how gruff his own voice sounded.

“With Shloonktapooxis. Target practice,” said Zim quickly, his hand migrating from the back of the co-pilot’s seat to Dib’s shoulder. 

Dib was leaning into Zim’s touch, allowing Zim to work his way from Dib’s shoulder to the back of his neck, where he tangled his fingers into Dib’s hair. Dib let himself relax at the small, gentle touches, Zim’s boldness encouraged him to reach forward and place his other hand on Zim’s waist. Slowly, he ran his hand down until he got to Zim’s hip and squeezed, enjoying the feeling of Zim’s body under his hand for the first time in months. He heard Zim inhale sharply and looked up, not at all surprised to find Zim staring down at him with wide, excited eyes, perked antennae, and a hot, flushed face.

Dib swallowed.

They hadn’t talked yet, about anything, really. They’d only just started acting civilly toward each other. There was a revolution looming, one that would either succeed or fail. Now wasn’t the time for… whatever this was.

But, still, Dib couldn’t stop himself from imagining how easy it would be to release Zim’s hand and take his other hip, to guide him just a little closer and then pull him onto his lap. Sure, they might have a little trouble with the seat’s armrests, but Dib didn’t care, he could still hold Zim around the waist or by the ass and kiss him, softly at first, and then harder, and faster, until they were both panting and gripping each other and making little moaning noises into each other’s mouths.

And, maybe, they’d get sick of sitting in the co-pilot’s chair, so Dib would stand up and step forward until Zim was sitting up on the dashboard, his legs open. And then Dib would thrust against him and dig his nails into Zim’s thighs while Zim dug his nails into Dib’s skull. And then, maybe, they’d fuck right there, quick and dirty, against the dashboard of _The Mothman_ with the windshield still popped open, so anyone could just walk into the garage and see them. The thought of it reminded Dib of that night at the bar on Cyberflox, and the memory sent a bolt of satisfaction through Dib’s middle.

Instead, though, maybe Zim would let Dib carry him back into the bedroom, and they’d fully undress and touch and kiss each other for as long as they wanted before, finally, reconnecting. And maybe they’d stay in Dib’s old bed forever, remembering the other’s body and how good it felt to be warm and wet and pressed together. 

And maybe, once they were done, they’d be lying together, out of breath and with the other’s name still on their lips, and they’d whisper “I love you,” just like the last time, and, in all respects, it really would be just like last time.

It would be like nothing had changed at all since the last time.

But even Dib knew that they couldn’t pretend like nothing had changed. They couldn’t just fall back together like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t broken each other’s hearts and then clumsily tried to stitch themselves back together. 

He blinked up at Zim, who was still gazing down at him. He knew they loved each other. He just wondered if, once this was all out in the open — once they finally _talked_ … would that be enough? Could their feelings be a sufficient counter to the horrible, shitty things they’d both done?

Dib didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out.

He pulled his hands back. Surprised, Zim removed his own hand from the back of Dib’s neck and took a step backward.

Using the very last shred of his self-control, Dib cleared his throat and said the first thing that popped into his brain.

“Do you want to go spar?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it show again? My, my, just how much I missed ya?


	17. Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Big trouble. Losing control. Primary resistance at a critical low. On the, on the double, gotta get a hold. Point of no return, one second to go.” - Imogen Heap 

**i.**

They parted ways in the locker room. As Dib slipped out of his jumpsuit and then into a pair ofshorts and sneakers, he considered the extremely close call that he and Zim had just encountered. 

He wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible to still care about Zim after learning about his past. He was, objectively, a maniac. He’d leveled cities and taken lives. He killed his Tallest twice, and then he’d lied about it. He was a traitor to his people. He was selfish and reckless and single-minded.

So, was Dib just as crazy for wanting Zim back? For wanting to accept that Zim was trying to repent?

Dib wasn’t sure. He didn’t really understand how to imagine all of the different sides of Zim’s personality as one person. He wanted, more than anything, to forgive Zim for what he’d done and move on. But, who was to say that Zim wouldn’t turn around tomorrow and blow up Headquarters? Or the entire planet Meekrob? 

Zim had said, weeks ago, that his PAK’s override function had been disabled. But, what did that even mean? What other functions were still working properly? Was he hearing voices? Was he being given commands? 

Lard Nar had given Dib some information about how PAKs interact with the Control Brains, and it had been helpful. Still, now Dib just knew more about the Control Brains and how they operate. He didn’t know anything more about the PAK’s influence on the irken. 

Dib knew that he could just ask Zim about his PAK and Zim would probably give him an honest answer. A part of him, he realized, just didn’t want to know. But Dib had also learned the hard way that ignorance wasn’t always bliss.

He could hear Zim on the other side of the locker room, removing his belt and unzipping his jumpsuit. He took a deep breath, shook out his shoulders, and made his way toward the door.

Zim arrived a minute or so later, dressed in a familiar pair of leggings, his old boots, and the tight black undershirt that he always wore under his jumpsuit. Dib only knew this because of GIR’s fascination with zippers. 

“You look great,” said Dib, without thinking.

Zim looked up, surprised.

“Oh, uh. Thanks,” he said, looking down at his outfit — one that Dib had seen plenty of times from the indoor track.

“I mean— whatever. Let’s just go,” said Dib, and off they went.

They walked in stiff silence to an open sparring room. Dib noted that its large back window overlooked a swimming pool, where Ixane and a few others were doing laps. 

Good, he thought. At least they were technically in public now.

He watched Zim sit down to stretch, a familiar warmth creeping up his neck at the sight of Zim sliding into a split and leaning forward to grab a foot. He swallowed, then stretched down to his toes, which he was still about six inches away from reaching. 

They stretched for a while, avoiding eye contact. 

Eventually, Dib cleared his throat and looked up. 

In front of him, Zim was sitting crosslegged on the mat, putting his gloves into his PAK and then wrapping his wrists in a pair of heavy-duty black braces. 

“Since when do you need those?” asked Dib.

Zim shrugged. He flexed his fingers and gave a noncommittal grunt. Finally, he looked at Dib.

“Shall we?”

As usual, Zim was a quick and agile sparring partner. Dib noticed, almost immediately, that they fell into the same routine from before. He tried to remember what he’d learned from Ixane as best as he could, but his muscle memory from sparring with Zim seemed to have taken over, and he found himself pulling the same old moves that Zim had taught him on _The Mothman_ months ago. 

Dib noticed, though, that Zim was getting tired quicker than he usually did, and his movements became more sluggish as they sparred. Dib wondered if he really _had_ improved. Maybe he just couldn’t tell, but it seemed like his moves were more effective on Zim than they used to be.

In a moment that surprised them both, Dib had Zim pinned. He looked down at the irken, struggling against his hold, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“This is a first,” Dib noted.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you really were going easy on me back then.”

“Shut… up. I’m still— ugh—”

Dib watched Zim continue to struggle, and he was unable to stop himself from gloating a little more.

“Still what, space boy? Still stronger? Doesn’t look like it,” he said with a grin. 

Zim glared up at him, and, in a moment, Dib was on his back, with Zim sitting on his chest and four PAK legs holding down his limbs.

“That’s cheating,” snapped Dib.

“I don’t think so, Dib,” said Zim, his own face breaking out into a wide, mean smile. “You think you’re so strong? Let’s see you get out of this.”

With Zim leaning over him, Dib could see all of his options. 

He could yield. 

That was out of the question.

“Well? I’m waiting,” said Zim, leaning even closer to stare Dib in the face.

He could put an end to this stupid dance they were doing, give in right now, and close the inches of space between them. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gone from sparring to kissing. In fact, kissing Zim right now felt as much like muscle memory as the fighting. He felt his brain go foggy, looking up at Zim. He watched Zim’s smile slowly fade from his face, and he felt his own cheeks go hot. One of Zim’s PAK legs dug into his palm, and Dib heard himself grunt at the sudden, sharp pain.

Kissing Zim now would be like a surrender. Dib, always quick with the good ideas, opted instead to slam his forehead against Zim’s as hard as he could.

Zim cried out in surprise and leaned back to grab his face. Dib felt the grip on his palms loosen, and he was able to scoot his right hand out from under one spider leg. He rolled onto his left side just enough to get his shoulder off the mat Zim was pinning him to. With one well-placed, bony jab in the chest, Zim’s PAK legs were retreating back into his PAK like the cord of an Earth vacuum cleaner.

Zim, still grabbing his forehead, yelled in surprise, and Dib took the opportunity to push him onto his back and pin his hands above his head.

Zim stared up at him, his eyes wide, breathing in quick, hard gasps. 

Dib stared down, noticing how warm Zim felt underneath him, with their chests pressed together. He took a slow, shaky breath.

“Gotcha,” he whispered.

Zim’s expression twisted into a frown.

“Did Ixane teach you that move?” he growled.

“She sure did,” said Dib softly.

“A dirty trick,” hissed Zim, and Dib felt himself smile.

“Well, she _is_ preparing me to fight irkens, so it seemed kind of necessary.” 

Zim rolled his eyes, and Dib felt a burst of tenderness for the sweaty, scowling irken. 

His resolve sufficiently weakened, Dib leaned down to press his mouth to Zim’s. 

Zim responded immediately, arching his back and wrapping his legs around Dib’s waist. Dib heard himself groan before loosening his grip on Zim’s wrists. He dug his fingernails into the mat and groaned again at the feeling of Zim’s fingers tugging at his hair. 

Kissing Zim again was like waking up from an unsettlingly realistic dream — suddenly, everything was as it was supposed to be, and Dib was finally, blissfully certain that he was awake. 

They kept kissing, their teeth bumping together and their bodies rubbing. Zim had his hips in an iron hold with his legs, but Dib didn’t mind, and he let himself grind down. He bit down, hard, on Zim’s neck when he felt Zim rutting back up against him. 

Both of their bodies were warm from the exercise, and the familiar smell of Zim’s sweat made some repressed part of Dib’s body take control, and he forgot everything else in the entire universe as he drew back for a moment to pull off his stupid Chicky Licky’s t-shirt. His slid his fingers under Zim’s undershirt, pushing it up, and groaned at the feeling of their bare, hot skin pressed together. Zim’s hips jerked up against him. 

On Earth, Dib occasionally heard a saying about not knowing what he had until it was gone. Now, he realized that he didn’t know what he'd had until he got it back.

He broke the kiss for a second to look at Zim’s face, those big, berry eyes cloudy with desire. He wanted to think of something to say, some way to confirm that this was the right thing to do, that they weren’t making a huge mistake. He held Zim’s cheek in one hand, swiping lightly under his eye with his thumb. Zim stared up at him, his expression kind of unreadable. Dib, still trying to think of something to say, watched Zim place a hand over his, then gently guide Dib's first two fingers into Zim's open mouth.

He felt Zim coil his tongue around his fingers and then suck while, at the same time, grinding slowly against him from below. 

He sputtered something, he wasn’t sure what, and let Zim flip him onto his back. Suddenly, his hands were pinned again, this time on either side of his head by two tiny, four-fingered fists. He groaned at the feeling of humid kisses trailing from his jaw to his neck, down his chest, and then his hands were freed as Zim pinched both of his nipples, hard. Dib arched his back into the touch, stuttering out a curse as Zim reached down to lightly palm at the stiffness in his shorts. He felt teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of his belly, nails trailing down his side, and he jerked hard into Zim’s hand, babbling and begging. 

He felt Zim’s hands tugging at the waistband of his shorts, and he hastily lifted his hips. He sat up a bit, resting on his elbows, and looked down, his face getting hot at the sight of Zim pulling his shorts and boxers down to mid-thigh. Zim gazed up at him, his own face flushed, then placed a soft trail of kisses from the new bruise on his belly, down to where Dib’s dick was exposed, stiff and practically throbbing, and then a thin, warm tongue wrapped itself around Dib’s erection. 

Dib heard himself gasp, and then Zim lifted his hips and took him in his mouth and he gasped again. He watched through half-closed eyes as Zim went down on him, barely hearing his own voice as he moaned and mumbled and cursed. He groaned at the feeling of Zim gently grasping his testicles, and he had half a mind to ask Zim when he’d learned to suck dick. Unwilling to ask questions and potentially encourage Zim to stop what he was doing, Dib tabled the question for later, and instead spread his legs as best he could against the restricting elastic of his gym shorts around his thighs. 

His head fell back against the floor at the feeling of Zim’s jagged, rough nails digging in to his hips, his only conscious thought being that this was much, _much_ better than the one other time someone had done this for him (it was Gretchen, and it was hasty and confused and barely even counted). 

He heard himself say something else, and Zim gripped his hips harder and moaned in agreement, and he reached down with one hand to find one of Zim’s antennae and rub it between his fingers. Zim groaned louder, and Dib felt like he was starting to come undone when the door of the sparring room flew open and Dib was suddenly face-to-face with an upside-down Spleenk.

“Dib?” he questioned, and then: “Zim!” 

Dib picked his head back up and looked down at Zim, who was staring at Spleenk, slack-jawed, his tongue still curled around Dib’s hard-on.

“W-we have this room reserved!” stuttered Spleenk, using all four of his hands to cover his eyes.

In a blur, Zim was up and out of the sparring room, pushing past Spleenk and dodging down the hallway. Dib jumped up and stumbled after him, still pulling his pants back up as he scooted through the door.

“Sorry, Spleenk!” he shouted over his shoulder, his whole face burning with embarrassment. 

Dib knew he’d left his shirt behind, and he didn’t care. He took off in the same direction Zim had gone, and, before long, Zim appeared out of nowhere and was grabbing Dib by the hand and dragging him away.

“My room is on this floor,” said Zim, looking back at Dib for a moment before pulling him around a corner.

Dib didn’t know what Zim had planned, and he was too busy replaying the memory of a horrified Spleenk in his mind’s eye to think about it. Before he knew it, though, they were in a corridor just like the one Dib lived on, and Zim was stopping in front of a tall door, unlocking it, and dragging Dib inside.

Zim pushed Dib against the door as he closed it and placed another bruising kiss on Dib’s mouth. Dib groaned in response, and in a few moments, the rest of their clothes were off and Zim was ripping off his wrist braces and climbing into Dib’s arms. 

Dib lifted him easily and turned them around so that Zim was the one with his back pressed against the door. They both sighed at the feeling of their bare bodies pressed together. Dib planted quick kisses all over Zim’s face as he reached down to stroke what was already unsheathed and stiff between them.

A traitorous voice told Dib that now would be the time that Zim’s PAK would start clicking, a sound that Dib had later resolved was a warning to Zim that he had better stop what he was doing before the PAK interfered. On _The Mothman_ , Dib had developed a sort of Pavlovian response to the sound. He didn’t know what it was, but he at least knew what it meant: Zim wanted him. And that had made him all the more excited, kicking his own arousal up a notch and then, soon after, they would fuck. 

Now, when he thought of that clicking sound, his stomach would cramp with terror and he would put a protective hand to his own throat. 

Dib pushed the thought away, annoyed that he was losing focus. Zim nipped his ear and he groaned, deciding once and for all to just turn his brain off and let his body take over. 

He pulled back for a second and noted that the layout of Zim’s room wasn’t different from the layout of his own. He carried Zim from the doorway to the bathroom, where he sat the irken down on the counter and continued kissing him as he washed his hands, once, twice, three times, with the same weird cleansing chalk that Lard Nar used. 

Once his hands were clean, he pushed Zim back so he was on his elbows and leaned over him, holding Zim by the back of the neck with one hand and lightly rubbing at him with the other.

Zim shuddered, but he had that same hazy, lusty look on his face that Dib had been so obsessed with when they were on _The Mothman_. After a bit more teasing and a command from Zim, muffled between their two mouths, Dib slid a finger inside.

Dib pumped his finger in and out a few times, enjoying the feeling of the tight ring of muscle clenching around it. He groaned, and Zim groaned with him. He kept going, gauging Zim’s reactions, then added a second finger and started pumping roughly, enjoying the sounds of Zim whining and moaning in his ear. 

He fucked Zim with his fingers as hard and as fast as he could while Zim moaned his name, louder and louder, before he finally reached down and grabbed Dib by the wrist, pushing his hand away.

Dib looked up, surprised, but Zim kissed him hard, sitting up so he could wrap his arms around Dib’s shoulders, his legs around Dib’s waist.

“Fuck me, Dib,” whispered Zim, and Dib was lifting him up in an instant and carrying him to the bed.

They crashed down on the striped blue duvet. Dib kicked off his sneakers. Zim rolled on top of him and brought their lips together in another hard, hungry kiss. 

Dib let Zim straddle his waist. He’d forgotten how good this felt, to by lying on his back while Zim was over him, on top of him, surrounding him. He felt almost crazed as he kissed Zim back, his own erection hard and demanding attention. Dib felt Zim shift back, redistributing his weight from his hands to he knees, and then he felt sharp nails biting into his chest. 

A quick, powerful memory took over for one second: those same claws digging into his chest, Zim’s face right above Dib’s, his eyes wide with rage, that stupid vial of poison returning to the upper compartment of Zim’s PAK…

He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back together, but he was shocked at how emotional the memory had made him. Zim pulled back and looked down at him.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“I— I— um,” Dib stammered, unable to find the words.

Zim sat up. He looked down as Dib stuttered, his own alien erection still hard and slick between them. 

Desperate to look at anything but Zim’s curious, confused face, Dib let his eyes trail downward. When he got to Zim’s chest, his words fell away and all he could do was stare.

He hadn’t noticed before, but now he saw it clearly, right in front of him: Zim’s chest, formerly smooth and without any marks, save for the insignia he’d put on himself, was now mottled shades of green with big, gnarled scars that started near his throat and spread up to his shoulders and down past his navel. Among the marks and the damaged skin, Dib could see another scar, this one white and too perfect to be anything but the result of a clean, single cut through the center of his chest. A surgical scar, he realized, that started at the base of his throat and travelled through all of the other new imperfections in Zim’s skin, all the way down his torso.

“Oh, my god,” whispered Dib. 

He put a hand on Zim’s chest, right where the insignia used to be. He felt Zim’s sqeedilyspooch, the singular organ inside his body besides his brain, beat double time against his hand. 

He swallowed, looking up at Zim’s face as Zim placed one of his hands over Dib’s.

“It’s not— it’s not permanent,” sad Zim softly. “It’s going to heal.”

“It…” said Dib, stuck. “Why isn’t it healed yet?” 

Zim looked down at him with a pained expression, then shifted back, letting go of Dib’s hand and standing up. Dib watched his erection soften and retreat back into his sheath. His eyes flicked back up to Zim's face. 

They said nothing for a moment.

Dib sat up, still looking at Zim, and patted the spot on the bed next to him. Zim considered the offer and eventually, reluctantly, sat down. 

“I don’t… I don’t want to fight again,” said Zim, softly, as he pulled his knees to his chest.

“Me neither,” said Dib. “Let’s just talk.”

Zim looked at him, then gave him a solemn nod. 

“Okay,” he said quietly. 

Dib, unsure of where to start, ran a hand through his hair. His own arousal, impossible to ignore a minute ago, was forgotten, and he almost felt cold, sitting naked in Zim’s room.

They didn’t say anything for a while.

“We just scarred Spleenk,” Dib said suddenly.

Zim barked out a quick and relieved laugh, then looked at Dib.

“We did, didn’t we?” 

“Why did we do that?” asked Dib, a dopey smile spreading on his face.

“You started it,” reminded Zim, leaning sideways a bit so that his shoulder brushed Dib’s for just a second.

“You… you escalated it,” countered Dib, and Zim laughed again.

“I did, didn’t I?” asked Zim through a chuckle. “Oh, well. Spleenk will forgive us.”

They looked at each other.

“Probably,” said Zim, and Dib giggled.

They stayed staring at each other, and Dib shifted himself a little closer to Zim, so their shoulders were touching and stayed touching.

“Was it the humungoserum?” he asked, looking down at his hands.

“Yeah,” he heard Zim say. “It, uh, messed me up.”

“What’s wrong with your PAK?” asked Dib. “Why isn’t it fixing… all that?”

He heard Zim sigh.

“My PAK was… compromised. When I drank it, I mean. It wasn’t… it wasn’t working great, anyway, because of… uh, well. It wasn’t working. And then, I drank the serum, and it just… it was horrible.” 

Zim’s voice was shaking. Dib said nothing.

“I don’t really remember what happened those first few days I was on Meekrob. I just know they fixed my PAK as best they could and they flushed the humungoserum out of my system. My PAK is trying to fix itself, now, it’s just… it’s hard, with, with everything…”

Dib let Zim trail off, his own brain stuttering as he tried to understand how Zim’s PAK could have been so broken that it couldn’t save him without the Meekrob’s help. He wanted to know why Zim’s PAK wasn’t fixing itself, why Zim was making it sound like the PAK was something sentient, when it wasn’t. Right?

It felt like years ago, the day that they’d talked about irkens and love. When Zim had explained how a PAK might try to adapt to a defective’s actions, and, if it didn’t…

“Was it going to explode?” asked Dib quietly. “Your PAK?”

Zim met Dib’s gaze, a sorrowful look on his face.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “It was close to self-destructing.” 

Dib felt sick. He wanted to run out of the room. He wanted to get on his knees and beg for Zim’s forgiveness.

“Zim, I—”

“I’m sorry,” said Zim, so abruptly that Dib blinked in surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“I know what you’re thinking and I just… I’m so sorry,” said Zim, his eyes locked on Dib. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about the humungoserum, and I’m sorry I lied to you, I just… I just wanted it so _badly_ , I couldn’t… I couldn’t not drink it, once I had it. I knew you were right, but I just… I trusted Virooz, and I thought—”

Zim clutched himself tighter, dropping his head onto his knees. 

“I was so afraid,” he whispered. 

“Afraid of what?” asked Dib.

“I was afraid, if… if you knew, you’d be mad at me. And then, you _were_ mad at me, but, I just… I shouldn’t have lied to you in the first place, I know that, but I just wasn’t thinking it would be a big deal until you… you saved me on Dirt and I just, I didn’t… I didn’t understand…”

“What didn’t you understand?” asked Dib.

“You,” said Zim, lifting his head so he could look at Dib again. “You… you came and saved me and I didn’t know why. I… I yelled at you, and I said… I said I’d rip your eyes out and you came and risked your life— and you told me it was a trap, I just…”

They stared at each other. 

“I liked you,” said Dib simply. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

Zim just shook his head. He stared at the wall across from them.

“It made no sense,” he said eventually. 

Dib just shrugged.

“It did to me,” he said, and Zim fixed him with another sad look.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Tak?” asked Dib quietly. “Or, why you got banished? Or your Tallest?”

“Why do you think?” asked Zim, looking at Dib with narrowed eyes. “Those aren’t exactly my proudest moments.”

“So?” asked Dib. “I told you about prom.”

Zim snorted.

“I’d say that’s very different,” he said.

“Still, I… I would have understood if you’d just told me,” said Dib.

“Would you have understood?” asked Zim, not unkindly. “Do you even understand now?”

Dib looked at Zim. He pursed his lips.

“Explain it to me.”

“What happened with Tak and my Tallests Miyuki and Spork were accidents,” said Zim. “I just… I wasn’t trying to hurt them. It just happened, and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want Tak to get banished. I didn’t want them to die.”

Zim was back to staring at the wall across from them, his eyes wide but unseeing.

“What happened in OID One?” asked Dib quietly.

Zim mumbled something.

“What?”  


“I was an Invader. I went through all the training. They tried to keep me from it, and I just… I wanted to prove to them I could do it. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I just… I thought it was my calling.”

“What was?”

“To conquer. To serve my Empire. To kill, to enslave, to invade. I thought that was what they needed from me. I didn’t… my PAK was so… it’s so hard to ignore, sometimes, so hard to tell…”

Dib waited to see if Zim would continue. He stayed staring at the wall, unblinking.

“What’s hard to tell?” Dib asked eventually.

“What’s the PAK and what’s you,” said Zim flatly, and Dib felt his stomach drop.

Dib thought about what he knew about PAKs, about Zim, about the Empire. It seemed like the more he learned, the more he realized he didn’t know. Looking at Zim, Dib felt, again, like he was out of his depth. Like there was so much he couldn’t understand, because he’d never had a mind control device attached to him, he’d never lived under an Empire that tried to block independent thoughts. 

Dib stared at Zim, sitting naked next to him. Zim had nearly died for his Empire countless times. Zim had gone to war for his Empire, he’d gone through rigorous trainings for his Empire, he’d been tested and brainwashed and tortured. As hard as Dib tried, he couldn’t empathize. He couldn’t even begin to understand what Zim was going through. He’d had a hard enough time connecting with other humans, but this… this was way beyond what he could handle. He continued staring at Zim, his own doubts and insecurities and guilt rising up.

“You think I’m crazy,” murmured Zim, making Dib jump.

“No, I don’t,” said Dib. “I don’t think that.”

“You said so.” 

“I didn’t mean it,” said Dib quietly. “I just wanted to make you mad.” 

“I feel crazy,” muttered Zim. 

“You aren’t,” said Dib. 

“I don’t even know anymore,” said Zim with a big sigh.

He looked at Dib. 

“I wanted to make you mad, too,” he said softly.

“I know,” said Dib. 

“I’m sorry.”

Dib felt the tears pricking at his eyes. He sighed.

“Was any of it real?” he asked softly.

Zim’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Any of what?”

“The…” Dib looked down, suddenly feeling stupid. “The talking.”

“The talking?”

“Like, all the times we talked. Did you… want that?”

Zim kept looking at him, clearly not understanding.

“Did I want to talk to you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Dib.

“Of course I did. If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t have,” said Zim.

“Did you like it?” asked Dib. “Talking, and, uh, you know? Hanging out?”

He felt childish and a little shameful asking. But he had to know for sure. 

“Why are you asking me this?” asked Zim.

“Because,” sniffed Dib, not realizing how emotional he was getting, “you… you needed my ship. You didn’t need me. I just… I want to know if it was real.”

“If what was?” asked Zim.

“Everything!” exclaimed Dib, startling Zim. “The talking, and the games, and the… we slept together, a lot, and I just… I just want to know if you were being genuine when I was fucking… falling in love with you?”

Zim stared at him. 

“Of course it was real,” he whispered. “I spent all this time trying to get you back, and you don’t think it was real? You don’t think I loved you?”

Dib sniffed again, annoyed that his emotions were so effectively blocking out the logical part of his brain.

“I just wanted to know for sure,” murmured Dib. 

Dib looked at his toes, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He watched Zim reach a hand out to touch him on the thigh, then pause. He stared as Zim’s hand hovered just a few inches over him. 

Dib sighed. He knew this was the only way to get everything out in the open. They needed real closure from what had happened before they could move forward. He realized, now, that he was kind of right to have been afraid of this conversation. It was hard and painful for the both of them. But, it had to happen.

He took Zim’s hand and held it, turning it over so that he could see the underside of Zim’s wrist. He drew Zim’s hand to his face put his lips to the spot, that one, rare commonality between them: a pulse point. But Zim’s pulse was slightly different. Instead of a human heart’s iambic, two syllable beat, an irken’s spooch beat in three syllables, the first a hard contraction and the next two a pair of softer, shorter relaxations. It was strange, and it made no sense to Dib, but it was how Zim’s body worked and he appreciated it. 

Dib held his mouth to Zim’s wrist for a while, his eyes closed, just feeling the pulse beat softly against his lips. After a moment, he heard Zim whisper his name. Embarrassed, he planted a quick kiss on Zim’s palm and released his hand. 

“I loved you, too,” said Dib softly. 

He felt Zim shift next to him, and he looked over.

“I know,” said Zim. 

They sat in silence for a few tense moments. 

“I’m sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for using you for your ship. I’m sorry for— for hurting you,” said Zim, his voice shaky but loud in the quiet room. “When we… when we were fighting, and I— I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to… to scare you like that. I didn’t want you to die. It's why I left. I didn't want to... to lose control again. To wake up from override mode and have you just be... I’m so sorry, Dib. For all of it.”

“It’s okay.”

Zim looked up, surprised.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” said Dib softly. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” 

They sat in silence again, and Dib felt Zim’s hand slide into his. He looked over to see that Zim was smiling. He pursed his lips.

“Do you forgive me?”

Zim cocked his head in confusion. 

“Forgive you for what?”

Dib felt his brow furrow. He cleared his throat.

“For… uh. For what you said. For not trying to understand. For… for killing you?”

Zim’s antennae shook a little at the confession, and Dib felt his heartbeat pick up.

“You don’t have to… you don’t have to say that,” said Zim.

“I… don’t?”

“No, it’s not… don’t worry about it.”

“Zim, what?”

“It’s fine.”

“Zim,” said Dib, shifting so that they were facing each other, their hands still clasped together, “you were right. I… I ignored what you said about your PAK. I was the one who made you go into that… that mode. You told me your PAK couldn’t handle… what we were doing. I didn’t listen to you. God, all that talk about you listening to me and I just fucking… ignored what you were saying. I was such a hypocrite, and you were right, I pushed you into things and—”

He caught himself and looked at Zim.

“I’m so sorry, Zim. I just… I didn’t want to hurt you, either, you know? I was just such an idiot.”

He put a hand on Zim’s chest again, gently, feeling for the thrum of life underneath the deep, twisting scars.

“I did this. I almost killed you.”

“No, Dib,” said Zim, taking Dib’s hand in his. “You told me _not_ to drink it—”

“You said your PAK was messed up and it couldn’t heal you. I was the one that messed it up. I thought… I thought everything would be fine, and that you would just… be fine. I didn’t listen to you. I made you… ugh, I just… it makes me feel sick just thinking about it.”

He met Zim’s gaze. 

“It was already messed up. It’s been messed up for years. You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Zim.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t listen to you.”

“But… you wanted to… to have intercourse,” said Zim.

“So?”

Zim just blinked. He gave his head a little shake.

“That’s what this is about, right?” asked Zim.

“I… yeah. I guess so.”

“It’s okay, Dib,” said Zim softly. “You don’t have to be sorry, you wanted—”

“Did you want it?” asked Dib, his own guilt bubbling to the surface and making his eyes water.

“Yes,” said Zim automatically.

“Did you really?” asked Dib.

“Yes! I did!” snapped Zim, and Dib suddenly felt very pathetic.

“You said you were afraid.”

“Well… maybe, but—”

“But what, Zim?” 

“I still wanted to do it.” 

“You weren’t ready. I pushed you into it. I know I did. I knew it when I was doing it,” said Dib, and then Zim’s eyes were watering, too.

“Maybe,” whispered Zim, and Dib felt himself finally let go.

“I’m so sorry, Zim.”

Zim shook his head.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he whispered.

“Why not?” asked Dib.

“Because, you… you _wanted_ it.”

“What does that mean, Zim?” snapped Dib, suddenly feeling himself get angry. “Are you just going to kill yourself, giving me whatever I want? Sex, hot sauce, anything? What am I, your T—”

He stopped short. Something clicked.

“Your Tallest?” he whispered, his voice shaky. 

He looked at Zim, who was blushing.

“I thought—” started Zim. “I didn’t… I don’t know how these things work,” he murmured, gesturing between the two of them. “I thought that was… how to do it.” 

Dib had had a few low points in his life. That is, Dib had experienced a handful of times where he really thought he’d hit rock bottom. This was definitely one of them. 

Zim watched him as he buried his face into his hands, his sobs coming fast and hard. He felt Zim’s hand on his shoulder, a gentle act of comfort, and he cried harder.

He should have known. The only people Zim had ever loved before were his leaders: the people he was literally programmed to live and die for. Of course he thought that was how he was supposed to treat Dib. Of course Zim would think of himself as the lower priority. 

When he was finally done, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and looked up at Zim.

“I don’t want you to ever think that that’s how it should be,” he sniffed, and Zim gave a solemn nod.

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Zim. I’m really, really sorry.”

Zim nodded again.

“I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course.” 

Dib swallowed, his own feelings still mixed up and complicated in his brain.

“I just… I thought that if we had sex, it would prove that we loved each other,” he confessed, knowing it was stupid. “That you loved me, I guess.” 

“I know,” said Zim softly. “That was what I was trying to show you.”

Dib looked over, surprised, and he watched Zim slowly turn to face him. 

That was it, then.

The tiny but significant difference between them: Dib had been seeking affirmation that they were in love, and Zim had been trying to affirm. 

And that was when Dib realized exactly what the two of them were: two people, from opposite sides of the universe, desperate to love each other but with no idea how. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, both thinking.

“We’re so bad at this,” whispered Dib, the realization still reverberating in his mind, still making him feel hopeless.

But next to him, Zim just shrugged.

“We can get better,” he said. 

Dib looked over, surprised. 

“You think so?”

“Sure,” said Zim, shrugging again. “After everything we’ve been through?”

He turned to face Dib, a small but confident smile on his face.

“We should at least try.” 

Despite everything, Dib smiled back. 

“You really want to?” Dib asked.

“Of course I do,” said Zim, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Dib. “Okay. Let’s try.” 

Dib sat back next to Zim. He stared at the wall ahead of them, an old weight finally lifting off his shoulders. He looked back at Zim. His fears, about reconciling, about whether or not their actions were unforgivable, about being together again in the face of this revolution, were gone from his mind. He squeezed Zim’s hand.

He knew that the road ahead of them would be difficult. If they were going to make this work, they’d still have a lot to sort out. There was so much left to talk about, to learn. It seemed to Dib that all they really needed was time.

Time to regain trust, to build confidence, to understand each other. 

With the revolution less than two weeks away, Dib could only hope that they’d get the time they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shouts out to Vaughn for the song rec!


	18. Tenn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hit the mute button. Let the vagina have a monologue." - Janelle Monáe

**i.**

Tenn knocked twice on the door, her good antenna perked for the sound of any stirring on the other side. When she heard nothing, she knocked again, and then she slowly opened the door and announced her arrival, her voice soft. 

From the depths of the room came a grunt, but only because Zim had agreed to audibly acknowledge Tenn’s presence as proof that he was still alive. 

Of course, at this point, there was only a small chance that Zim would die from his injuries. But, Tenn aimed to be cautious. 

She stepped into the room, glancing around to see if anything had changed since the last time she’d been in. She was not surprised to find that the room was dark, the soda can was still on the nightstand, its tab still unpopped, and the muffin basket, a gift from Skoodge, was still on the floor, untouched.

She closed the door behind her, because Zim hated hearing the sounds of others walking up and down his hallway. As was their routine, Tenn opened the curtains first, and then cracked the window to invite some fresh air into the stale room. As was their routine, Zim lay in his bed with his back to the window and said nothing. 

Tenn looked out Zim’s window. From here, she could see only the dark, still lake and the distant horizon, ridged and rough with active and dormant volcanoes. She had chosen this room for Zim specifically, because she thought that he might find the natural beauty to be a soothing reprieve after spending so many years on Foodcourtia. 

She looked back at Zim, who hadn’t moved.

“It’s a nice day out,” she commented. “Not as cloudy as yesterday.” 

A test. She waited. Nothing.

“Tomorrow’s supposed to be warm, but windy. I expect the beaches will be busy. It’ll be a good day for sailing.”

Still nothing. Tenn persevered.

“The Meekrob tell me that the humidity—”

“If you saw one more word about the weather, I will tear what’s left of your antennae out of your skull and stuff them down your throat.”

Tenn hummed. She turned from the window to see Zim had rolled over to stare at her, his eyes hollow and tired. He’d also scooted closer to the wall, so there was a space on the bed just large enough for Tenn to sit down.

She took the offered seat, stretching her legs down the bed and folding her hands in her lap. She shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable on the thin mattress.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t come and live at Headquarters,” she commented. “The accommodations are so much nicer.”

Zim hummed.

“Haven’t said ‘yes,’ yet.”

“Not yet?” asked Tenn. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” 

Tenn sighed. They’d talked about this, a lot. Well, Tenn had talked about it, and Zim had occasionally grunted at her. 

With no ship and a worn out PAK, Zim’s options were pretty much limited to either joining the Resisty or swimming across the lake and eventually inhaling enough volcanic ash to die. Still, she wasn’t totally surprised to find that her old friend insisted on keeping them waiting, as if he were considering their offer among a myriad of comparable ones. She knew that, in Zim’s mind, he was still deciding whether or not he even wanted join. The amount of available options had little to do with Zim’s decision-making process.

Tenn could appreciate that. Even if it was pretty stupid in this particular situation. 

“Well, let me know when you decide to stop sulking, and we’ll get you a uniform,” said Tenn.

“Get your shoes off my bed,” hissed Zim. 

Tenn just looked down at him, curious. He’d never asked for that before. He glared back, and, eventually, Tenn just shrugged and pulled her boots off. She wiggled her toes, unused to the freedom, and dropped the boots next to the muffin basket.

“Happy?”

“No.”

Today was the twentieth day of Zim’s residence on Meekrob. The first ten days had been difficult: Tenn, Lard Nar, and the Meekrob had spent the entire time in the hospital’s operation wing, pumping healing drugs into Zim’s system as fast as they were being flushed out by his PAK. In fact, getting the humongoserum out of his body had been a small affair in comparison to trying to keep Zim alive against his PAK’s autoimmune malfunctions, but, eventually, Tenn and Lard Nar were able to stabilize Zim’s PAK and then Zim’s body. The whole ordeal had been so exhausting, Tenn actually lay down for the first time in years and napped for an entire five minutes. 

Since then, Zim had been here, in his recovery suite. Or, more specifically, in the bed in his recovery suite. 

“Maybe you’d be happier if you went outside,” offered Tenn. “We could go to the beach—”

“No beach.”

Tenn paused. She thought back, to their days in the academy.

“What if we went dancing? Remember, that was fun? There’s a place downtown—”

“No dancing.”

“Fine, Zim, what if we just watched TV—?”

“No! No TV.” 

Tenn crossed her arms. She glared at Zim, and he glared back. Actually, she would consider that progress. This was better than all the crying he’d been doing a few days ago. At least now she knew he still had a little fight left in him.

“What, then? Tell me what you want to do,” said Tenn.

Zim’s eyes narrowed, and he rolled away from Tenn and scooted as far from her as possible without falling off the bed. 

Tenn watched him for a while, her eyes trained on the uneven rise and fall of Zim’s side as he attempted to breathe while keeping his arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

“Okay,” said Tenn quietly, realizing that she still wasn’t able to be angry at Zim. One of her biggest weaknesses, she had always thought, was that she had such a hard time finding anger for Zim. “What if we just talked?” 

“About what?” grumbled Zim. 

“About…”

Tenn looked around, her good antenna wiggling thoughtfully as she tried to find an inoffensive topic. 

“I guess the weather’s out of the question,” she mumbled, half to herself, and she smiled at the sound of Zim barking out a quick, quiet laugh. 

She shifted again on the bed, trying to figure out why it was particularly uncomfortable today. After some investigation, she discovered the culprit: a tablet, haphazardly stuffed under the mattress.

“What’s this?” she asked.

When Zim ignored her, she shrugged. She unlocked the tablet using the first passcode she tried (“ZIM”) and found that Zim had been browsing his own photo library.

“Ooh, pictures,” she murmured, and, from the corner of her eye, she saw Zim’s head snap around. 

“What’s this?” she asked, flipping through the older ones — Zim really didn’t have many pictures saved, it seemed, just a few of the two of them and Skoodge from back at academy. One of himself in a Battle Mech. Nothing from his exile on Foodcourtia. Then, something surprising.

“What… what is that?” she asked. “An alien? I’ve never…”

She let herself trail off as Zim rolled himself over so he could see what she was looking at. He rested his head on his hands and let out a big, heavy sigh when Tenn tilted the screen toward him.

“A human,” he said quietly.

“What’s a human?” asked Tenn, unable to tear her eyes from the strange creature. 

It had some black fur on its head that was oddly pointy at the top. It wore a strange pair of goggles and a short-sleeved shirt that Tenn recognized from the gift shop at the Schmapsiest Doink in Squoop. It was sitting in a cockpit, its head leaned back against the headrest, its eyes closed and its mouth hanging open.

When Tenn realized that Zim hadn’t answered her question, she looked over to see him staring at the image, a strange look on his face. 

“Are you sad?” asked Tenn uneasily.

“Yes,” said Zim. 

“Why?” 

Zim sighed again, then crawled forward a bit so he could lay his head in Tenn’s lap. She propped an elbow on his shoulder and rested her chin in her hand. 

Zim didn’t say anything, just pressed a finger to the screen and swiped once. The same “human” appeared again. This time, it had a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other, but it wasn’t writing. Rather, it was staring at the notebook and chewing on the pencil.

“Humans eat pencils,” said Tenn.

“Sometimes,” said Zim. “But not the graphite part, just the wood part.”

“Interesting.”

“Only when they’re concentrating on something. Not for sustenance,” added Zim.

“You don’t say. All humans do this?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Hmm.”

They stared at the picture for a while. Tenn thought that the human looked like it was at least eighty donuts tall, although it was hard to tell. At least, she could tell that it had long legs and a large head. 

She found herself getting a little lost in thought about the image before her, but she wasn’t so distracted that she didn't notice that this was the first time Zim had sought comfort from her since he’d gotten to Meekrob. Back in academy, he had only needed physical comfort a few times, and often all that was needed was a pat on the shoulder or, on rare occasions, a short hug. 

Zim finding humungoserum and drinking it was not outside the realm of what Tenn imagined him capable of doing. Zim was also no stranger to near-death experiences, so she knew that Zim’s sadness, profound and unfamiliar, was the result of something else. Whatever had happened to Zim had to have been substantial, otherwise he wouldn’t by lying like he was, snuggled in Tenn’s lap like a Vortian smeet.

“Is the human the reason why you’re sad?” asked Tenn softly.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

There was a long, airless pause as Tenn waited for Zim’s answer.

“We mated.” 

Tenn was so surprised, she dropped the tablet and squeaked out: “ _Who_?”

“Me. And the human,” mumbled Zim.

“You… you mated? With the human?”

“Yes.”

Tenn tried her hardest not to sound surprised or, worse, judgmental. But, honestly, it was so rare that Zim ever surprised her, and she wasn’t sure how to mask her own shock.

“Why?” asked Tenn.

“We wanted to,” said Zim, picking the tablet up off Tenn’s lap and flipping through it once more.

“You?”

“Yes.”

“And… and an alien?”  


“Yes. Look.”

Zim held the tablet up to Tenn’s eye level so she could see a new image. It was the human, again, this time with no shirt on and just a towel wrapped around its waist. Its back was to the camera. It was using some kind of blade to slice the fur off its face. 

Tenn stared at the picture, not sure what it was that Zim was trying to show her. Certainly, it was tall. But, other than that, Tenn didn’t really see the appeal. To be fair, though, Tenn had never found anyone appealing, not even a fellow irken. As far as she knew, most irkens complied with the law against attraction.

Still, Zim was not most irkens. And he found this creature attractive. And, apparently, the alien had also taken a liking to Zim. 

Unsure of how to respond and afraid of offending Zim, Tenn cleared her throat.

“Tall,” she said.

“Yes,” whispered Zim. “He’s very tall. And smart.”

“Huh.”

“Brave.”

Tenn just hummed. Zim brought the tablet down so he could stare at the picture he’d just been showing her. He shifted a bit, rolling onto his back, his head still resting in Tenn’s lap. Tenn moved her elbow away, careful not to touch the fresh scars that she knew were still tender under Zim’s hospital gown. 

She still remembered the exact moment she tore off Zim’s uniform to find that he was being burned alive from the inside out, all of his veins bloating and fizzling as the humungoserum tore through his system. She remembered Zim’s eyes, wide and unseeing, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, his nails digging into her palm. 

“I love him.”

Again, Tenn was too surprised to come up with a coherent answer. This time, she just stared down at Zim, her jaw agape. 

Zim looked at her, registered her expression, and then looked back at the picture. 

“He said he loved me, too.”

Tenn said nothing.

“We got in a fight. Before I came to Meekrob, I was with him. But we fought and I parked his ship on the moon and then wired it to fly him back to his home world and then I drank the humungoserum and then you found me.”

Tenn kept quiet, not so much out of surprise any more, but because Zim hadn’t offered up nearly as much information in the past few days. She got the feeling that he would keep talking if she let him, so she did.

“My PAK got worse from being with him. Went into override mode because of all the… stuff.”

At that, Tenn gave Zim a sympathetic nod. She knew override mode all too well. 

“I almost killed him. It told me to kill him. He snapped me out of it but I just… couldn’t risk it happening again. I had to go before I… before… he—”

Zim squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly the tablet was in Tenn’s face again and Zim was sitting up and burying his own face into the crook of Tenn’s neck. Tenn placed the tablet next to the soda can and delicately wrapped her arms around Zim’s frame. He responded by huffing fast, wet breaths against her collar. Tenn pursed her lips, unsure of how to provide the needed amount of comfort. She went with a strategy that she had seen in a Plookesian movie once.

“It’s okay, Zim,” she said softly. 

Zim just dug his forehead harder into her shoulder, so Tenn said it again. She could hear the sound of Zim’s teeth grinding.

“Not okay.”

“Why not?” asked Tenn softly.

“Because!” exclaimed Zim, pulling away so he could look at Tenn. “He is somewhere, in space, and I’m here, on this disgusting rebel planet, doing nothing!”

“Well, no one told you to do nothing. That was your choice.”

“What can I do, Tenn?”

Tenn wasn’t sure what the right thing was to say in this situation. She felt herself shrug.

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

Zim stared at her, then looked down at his hands. Tenn thought it was strange, seeing Zim out of his uniform, barefoot and gloveless in a too-big hospital gown. He looked so much less like Zim.

“I want to see Dib.”

“Okay,” said Tenn carefully. “How can we make that happen?”

“We can’t,” growled Zim. “I don’t know where he is.”

“The Resisty has ways of finding people, Zim. We could find him.”

“My PAK is on the verge of self-destruction.”

“So, you stay here. Let me move a few more wires around. The override function has been disabled. It’s not as dangerous anymore. _You’re_ not as dangerous. We can fix it up as best as we can for the time being, then you can go see the human once we find him.”

Zim kept staring down at his hands. 

“I can’t keep hearing this,” he muttered. “Even with Dib gone, I hear it. All the time.”

“I know,” said Tenn softly, because she did. “I hear it, too.” 

“I can’t… I can’t do this much longer.”

“Join the Resisty. Help us put a stop to it.”

Even talking about the revolution with Zim made the throbbing in her head start up again. She knew Zim probably felt it too, and he probably heard that same, exhausting chanting in his brain as often as she did. 

Zim looked up, realization dawning on his face.

“If we defeat them. If we… disable them, the Brains. We’ll be free from the voices?”

“Yes,” said Tenn softly.

“And the PAK, it will answer to me?”

“Yes. With the Brains disabled, you’ll be the PAK’s only master, and it will listen to just you.”

Zim stared at Tenn, his own antennae perking up for the first time since his arrival on Meekrob. He reached over Tenn for the soda on the nightstand and popped the tab. He took a long sip.

“I could be with my human,” he said thoughtfully. Then, he shook his head. “But, no. He’ll be mad at me. He won’t see me. He won’t forgive me for what happened.”

“You won’t know until you find him,” said Tenn, feeling invigorated by Zim’s newfound energy. “You should at least try.”

Zim looked at Tenn and gave her a determined nod. She smiled at him, relieved to finally see even a modicum of her old friend back. 

“Perhaps I could… join this rebel group,” said Zim, nodding to himself. “For me and Dib. For all the vortians and the screwheads… the Large Nostril People…” He looked at Tenn, a small smile spreading across his face. “For Irk.”

Tenn nodded. She felt herself smiling back.

“For Irk,” she repeated, in unison with the voice booming through her brain.

 

**ii.**

Tenn looked up at the sound of three short knocks on the door.

“Come in,” she called.

In walked Dib the human, his face a bright red color and he feet dragging on the floor.

“Oh, Dib!” said Tenn. “Good to see you. Close the door, please.” 

The human did as she asked without a word. He looked back toward her, standing awkwardly next to her door. They looked at each other for a while.

“Sit down,” said Tenn.

He shuffled over to her desk and took a seat across from her, his eyes darting around the room. Tenn let him look around. After all his days on Meekrob, this was his first time in her office.He scanned her wall, upon which she’d hung a few paintings by her favorite Peribiti artist. 

“Nice view,” said the human, looking from the large, pink paintings to the wide window to his right.

“Thanks,” said Tenn. 

It really was a nice view: Tenn’s office was only a few stories up, but it was positioned perfectly over a large park a few blocks away. It was the park that she knew Zim and the human frequented, because Zim always told her they were going there and he insisted she watch their picnics and then provide feedback on the Dib’s smile frequency, body language, and overall demeanor. Tenn was an extraordinary spy, but she had no interest in watching Zim try to court his human, so she usually just lied. Zim, so far, hadn’t caught on. 

Tenn looked back to the human, who was now looking at her. He looked… nervous. His face was still red and he was chewing on a finger nail. After some thinking, Tenn nearly laughed out loud remembering what Spleenk (and Shloonktapooxis, and Ixane, and even a few ensigns) had just told her earlier that day. 

She wasn’t sure how to feel about what had happened yesterday in the sparring room. Honestly, she didn’t really understand the logistics of human mating, so she wasn’t too sure how scandalous the act had actually been. 

Although, judging by Spleenk’s embarrassment, Ixane’s outrage, and the ensigns’ glee, she had to imagine it was a pretty big deal. Plus, the human was sitting across from her, and his face was still red all the way to his ears and neck, so she figured some disciplinary action was probably in order.

But, the coup was looming, and Tenn didn’t have time for all that paperwork, so she decided to just let it go. It, of course, had nothing to do with how happy Zim probably was right now. Looking at the human, she also thought it would be appropriate to spare him any more embarrassment and just not bring it up.

Tenn, satisfied with her decision, cleared her throat and reached for her tablet.

“So,” she began, tapping around until she found what she was looking for. “Lard Nar tells me you’re writing your own programs, now?”

“Wha— Oh! Oh, yeah, that…” the Dib-human laughed. “Yeah, he told me he was gonna tell you about that.” 

“It’s very impressive,” said Tenn. “I’d like to discuss it.”

They chatted for a while, and Tenn realized that the Dib was a very smart and capable person. Lard Nar and Zim were both eager to praise the new recruit, but she wanted to find out for herself. She asked questions about his experience with engineering and programming, and the conversation flowed easier than ever before. Tenn was glad for that — she’d been surprised by the Dib’s hostility toward her when he first arrived, and she was relieved to find that it had finally dissipated. 

After some talk about Dib’s home world, Earth, the human looked away, suddenly sheepish.

“Hey, uh, Tenn?”

“Yes?”

“I really am, um, sorry. For before,” he said.

Tenn blinked.

“I know that,” she said. “You already apologized?”

“I know, I know,” said Dib. “I just, uh, you know. Still feel kinda bad.”

“Oh,” said Tenn. “No need. It’s in the past.”

“Okay, cool,” said the Dib, and Tenn watched his shoulders relax.

“Yes, cool,” said Tenn smoothly. “While I don’t fully understand Earthen mating protocols, I am glad that we have cleared up this misunderstanding and that you no longer see me as a reproductive threat.”

To Tenn’s surprise, the human sputtered and started to redden again.

“Did I… say something?” asked Tenn. 

“Uh, you know, it’s just, it’s not like…” the Dib stammered, looking anywhere but at Tenn. “It’s not, like, reproductive. Um.”

Tenn eyed the human, waiting to see if he would go on. He didn’t.

“But Zim told me you mated, and you were worried that I also mated with Zim.”

“Zim told you— oh my god. What else did he tell you?” asked Dib. 

Tenn considered the question. Zim had never sworn her to secrecy, but she guessed that many of the details he’d told her about the Dib were not meant for public consumption. Really, though, Tenn wasn’t sure if there was anything about the Dib that Zim hadn’t told her. 

They’d talked about this sweaty, red-faced human for hours. Tenn knew his favorite color, his television preferences, his fighting style. She knew all the details about how their relationship progressed, from Zim’s assisted escape from Foodcourtia to the day they parted ways. Not because she’d particularly cared, but because Dib was one of the few topics that Zim thoroughly enjoyed discussing.

She looked at Dib. Tenn wasn’t the best at reading facial expressions, but she got the feeling that Dib didn’t want her to know all of those details. 

“Uh,” she said, after too long a pause, “nothing else, really.”

“Oh, my god,” said the human, and Tenn silently punished herself for not being a better liar.

After a short pause, the human spoke again.

“Did he say anything, uh, bad?” he asked. 

“Um,” said Tenn, remembering that this really wasn’t the kind of meeting they were supposed to be having. “No?”

Dib crossed his arms and looked away.

“Yeah, right.” 

Tenn just shrugged.

“Well, he wishes you liked GIR more, but, honestly, I can’t blame you on that one.”

Dib looked back at her, and suddenly his energy was back.

“Right? That thing is so weird. And, like, dirty all the time?”

“I know!” said Tenn, happy to have steered away from the previous topic. "It gets grease stains all over my rug!"

“Where did it even come from?”  


Tenn shook her head, thinking back.

“We found it washed up on the beach. It wasn’t even operational, and looked like it hadn’t been in a long time. But, Zim insisted he could bring it back online and, well… I suppose he was right. In a sense. I don’t know if it was ever fully functional. I’m not even sure it’s a SIR Unit.”

“That’s what I was thinking!” said Dib. “It looks nothing like Skoodge’s, or, or… yours? Do you have one?”

Tenn pursed her lips.

“My SIR was destroyed. She was trying to protect me when I was sent the defective batch.”

“Oh.” Dib’s eyes flicked up to Tenn’s injured antenna, and she felt herself brush her fingers against it. “Right. Sorry. I, uh, I forgot about that.”

“It’s alright,” said Tenn, he hand still touching the sensitive scar tissue. “It was a long time ago.”

The Dib looked around, and Tenn could tell he was nervous.

“Do you, um. Will it heal?” he asked.

All Tenn could do was shrug. 

“Unlikely. An irken’s antennae don’t naturally regenerate the way limbs or other appendages do.” Tenn looked away, quick emotion rising in her spooch. “Irkens with damaged enough antennae are often just deactivated and disposed of. It’s quicker to replace them than it is to heal them.”

A cold silence. Dib the human stared at Tenn, his face twisted with some emotion she couldn’t place.

Eventually, he spoke.

“So, uh, where did GIR come from? He wasn’t from the bad batch, right?”

Tenn swallowed, appreciative of the change of subject. 

“Who knows? All I know is that GIR washed up on the beach, Zim insisted on fixing him up, and now he follows Zim around and throws up on my shoes.” 

Dib laughed, and Tenn felt herself laugh a little with him. 

“So, you can’t say ‘no’ to Zim either, then?” asked Dib. 

“I guess not,” chuckled Tenn. “He’s very persuasive.”

Like that, the human’s face darkened, and he looked away.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered. 

Tenn found the human so fascinating. Mostly, she found it baffling how his own emotions seemed to be constantly bleeding into each other. How he could be angry but also weeping with sadness, or how he could be frustrated but also excited, as Lard Nar said he often was.

He also did this: jumping from one feeling to another so abruptly that his own logic couldn’t keep up. A laugh with Tenn turned to a fit of jealousy in the blink of an eye. And, now, he was looking at her with guilt on his face. At least, it looked like guilt. Tenn had to admit, she didn’t have nearly as good a read on the human as Zim did.

In the silence that followed the human’s comment, Tenn considered why Zim was so enamored with Dib. She had even asked, unashamed of her ignorance, what it was that made Zim so devoted to an alien. She’d expected Zim to say something about the novelty of the species, or his height, or even his usefulness as a traveling partner. Instead, Zim had spoken at length about the human’s compassion, his capacity for forgiveness, his eagerness for sharing stories and experiences. Zim liked that the human was smart but not arrogant, he was tall but not menacing, and he was kind but not boring. 

And, as Zim had said many times, the Dib’s kindness, his patience, and his openness were not limited to just their conversations in the cockpit. Tenn was thankful that Zim was vague about mating with the human, but he would discuss the sentiments around the act at length. 

Talking about mating made Tenn’s whole brain go blank.

It confused her, the way that Zim discussed his human and their relationship. Tenn had never experienced “romance” the way that Zim had described it, nor had she ever enjoyed physical touching with another. She knew that she was an irken of above average intelligence, and she knew that her PAK was attached to a relatively tall and functional organic body, but she’d never considered her physical appearance beyond that until she found out that the Dib thought she was “pretty.” 

She didn’t know what it meant, only that it was unfamiliar and made her uncomfortable. 

“Sorry,” said Dib softly, startling Tenn. “I just… I feel like there’s so much I don’t know. I mean, there's so much you understand about Zim that I don't.” 

Tenn looked up at the human, surprised.

"We're from the same planet," she said carefully. "And we've known each other since smeethood. It's not... it isn't a competition. I just am... um, lucky?"  


Saying it felt odd, and Dib just nodded, then shook his head. 

"If it helps," said Tenn, "I also feel ignorant about you. You with Zim. This is... new territory for me, as well."

Dib nodded again, his face reddening.

"Yeah, Skoodge said that," he mumbled. "I guess... I'm just trying to understand."

Tenn waited for the human to look at her, and she offered him a small smile.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Just, you know, PAKs and all that. Irken stuff. I feel like I’m so far behind.”

Tenn hummed.

“You can always ask,” she said. 

Dib smiled, relieved. A quick silence as the human gathered his thoughts.

“I just… so, like, this override mode? What’s the point of it?”

“The override mode…” Tenn paused. “Let me broaden the scope a bit. The PAKs’ primary users are the Control Brains, and the secondary users are the irkens. One of the PAKs’ main functions is to ensure that the irken is complying with the orders given through the PAK from the Brains. Sometimes, the irken won’t comply. For example, my PAK began to malfunction when the Meekrob found me and offered me help.”

Really, it had started the day she tried to appeal the Brains’ decision to exile Zim to Foodcourtia. They’d told her to get lost, and she did so only after they threatened her with the same fate for her insubordination. That was the day her PAK first started to click.

“Eventually,” Tenn continued, “my own independence, my treasonous thoughts, wore out my PAK until it went into self-preservation — override mode. The Brains try to gain full control of the irken through the PAK. In my case, I nearly died. In Zim’s case, well— you know—”

“Right, yeah. I remember.”

Tenn shot the Dib a sympathetic look. He looked out the window.

“I just… it seemed like he was talking to someone,” muttered Dib. “Like there was some voice in his head.”

“Well,” said Tenn softly.

Dib’s gaze snapped back to Tenn.

“There is, isn’t there? Some kind of voice, telling you guys what to do? Do you hear it all the time?”

Tenn bit her lip. She didn’t want to make Dib feel bad, or take pity on her and Zim, but she also didn’t want to lie.

“Yes,” she said. “It used to not be that bad. When I joined the Resisty, it got worse.”

“Jesus.” The human ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t— that must be awful.”

Tenn saw the opportunity to redirect the conversation, at she took it.

“It’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it? To free Irk’s colonies, sure, but also the irkens.”

Dib gave a thoughtful hum.

“Dib, I’d like to tell you about my vision for Irk’s future,” said Tenn. She didn’t wait for the human to respond. “I want irkens to be free to choose their own paths in life. I want them to be able to seek a career that they’re passionate about, and I want them to be able to try and fail without fear of punishment. I want Irk’s leadership to be strong and noble and… and worthy. I want irkens to be free to have close friends and relationships. With each other, and with, um, others.”

She knew she’d finished on an awkward note, and the human looked away. She didn’t care. She wanted to make sure Dib knew that she was on his side.

And, because she couldn’t help herself, she added: “Just, maybe, in their designated private quarters, and not in the gym.”

Dib’s eyes went wide, and his had snapped back to he was staring at her. She met his shock with tiny, smug smile.

Dib’s face, now blotchy and red, rearranged itself into an expression of surprised amusement.

“So, you did hear about that.”

“I did.”

“Am I in trouble?”  


“No,” laughed Tenn. “But if anyone asks, please tell them you’ve lost your sparring room privileges.”

“Okay,” said Dib slowly. “But, what if they see me in a sparring room?”

“Oh, good point,” said Tenn. “I guess, then, you’ve lost your sparring room privileges. For real. Unless it’s with Ixane.”

“Okay,” chuckled Dib. “Fair enough.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, and Tenn wondered if this was a precursor to real friendship with Zim’s human. 

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Dib asked. “If we win?”

Tenn smiled.

“I think it’ll be great.”

Dib frowned and looked down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Dib,” said Tenn softly. “I know you might have trouble believing us. I know that there’s a lot you don’t understand. You just need to trust me when I say… being told what to do, what to want, all the time, it’s… it’s exhausting. It literally drives some of us to madness. I know that you and Zim had problems, and I’m not saying that everything he did was excusable. But, after this… once this revolution succeeds, we’ll have our own lives, for the first time in so long. We can be ourselves, for the first time in, in… millennia.”

Dib, still frowning, looked back up at Tenn.

“I always heard that irkens are these big conquerers. That you just keep taking,” he said.

Tenn narrowed her eyes.

“That’s what we’re programmed to do,” she said. “It’s not what we all actually want.” 

Dib nodded, looking unconvinced.

“Dib,” said Tenn. “Do you know why Zim loves that SIR Unit so much?”

Dib shook his head.

“It’s because it’s proof that the Brains can’t control us. _Irk_ can’t control us. GIR is a robot designed to assist his master in conquering an enemy planet. Instead, he spends all his time eating and rolling around in the dirt. If that’s not proof that there’s a life to live outside the Brains’ influence, I don’t know what is.” 

Dib took a deep breath, and they said nothing for a moment.

“You’re right. I guess that… can be comforting. I guess I’m just nervous about what’ll come next.”

“I know you are,” said Tenn. “But we’ve got a good team here. The Meekrob and I have been in talks with Lard Nar, Shlooktapooxis, and all the other leaders from conquered Empire planets. We plan to form an alliance, to rebuild together. We can be strong if we unite, and we can guide Irk and all of its freed colonies to a new glory.”

Dib nodded. 

“That sounds amazing,” he said softly.

“You can be a part of it, if you want,” said Tenn. “I know Lard Nar has already spoken with you about your future, but just know that I’m aware of your skills. There are a number of places where you could be an asset. You just have to say where you want to go.”

Dib nodded again.  


“That’s… wow. I just hope I can meet your expectations.”

“You’ve already exceeded them.”

Dib laughed nervously, and Tenn felt herself smile. 

“You don’t have to decide just yet,” said Tenn. “But just know that — if all of this works out, of course — you’ll have a place. Wherever you want to go. The work doesn’t end when the coup succeeds. In fact, our jobs will get much more difficult if we want to implement real change. You can help us make that change happen.”

Dib pursed his lips. He shot one last smile at Tenn.

“Thanks, Tenn. I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, Dib.”

 

They chatted for a few more minutes, and Tenn found herself thinking that she and Dib could potentially be real friends. She hoped that Dib thought the same thing. 

Eventually, a loud bang on Tenn’s door alerted her to the time.

“Oops, I have—” Tenn checked her communicator. “Wait, I don’t have a meeting right now?” 

Another bang on the door, and Tenn remembered the message (marked urgent) that she’d received late last night from Zim informing her that he needed at least an hour of her time today. 

“That would be Zim,” said Tenn cooly, and Dib chuckled.

“I’ll get out of your way, then.”

Tenn walked Dib to her door and opened it to find Zim, standing with a hand on his hip and his foot tapping, GIR tucked under his arm.

“Zim,” said Tenn.

“Tenn. Dib!” Zim looked up at the human with that same confusing, unfamiliar smile. 

“Hey Zim,” said Dib, his own face breaking into a lopsided grin.

“I have to speak with Tenn about, um… work stuff.”

“Right,” said the human. “Maybe I’ll catch you later.”

“Yes, yes. Later. Sounds good.” 

Zim went to step into Tenn’s office, and Tenn put a hand up.

“GIR lost his office privileges. Remember?” 

Zim gave an exasperated sigh and handed GIR over to Dib. 

“Take him for me. I’ll find you later,” said Zim.

“Uh, okay,” said Dib. “Bye, Tenn.”

“Bye, Dib,” said Tenn, and she watched the human share another small smile with her friend and then walk off.

Zim watched him go, too. Eventually, they turned back to each other.

“I have _so much_ to tell you,” said Zim.


	19. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it. I pray for everything we lost, buy back the secrets. Your hand forever’s all I want, don’t take the money.” - Bleachers

**i.**

From here, Dib could see all of Resisty City. A booming metropolis, serving a singular purpose: to overthrow the Empire. Dib had been living here for close to three months, now. He had a favorite coffeeshop and a preferred park. He knew his way around the city’s backstreets. Yesterday, he and Zim had carved their names into his favorite tree.

Still, the permanence was unsettling. Being in one place for too long made Dib feel stale, like he was back on Earth. 

Although, Dib would admit that he felt extra unsettled today, and it had nothing to do with his tenure on Meekrob. Rather, it had to do with the fact that today was Mission Day. 

Today would go down in history as the day the Empire fell. Or, it would be another failed act of rebellion, rewritten and ignored, like all the others. 

Dib trusted Tenn, the Meekrob, Lard Nar. He trusted the plan. He trusted Zim. Still, he felt his stomach twist at the thought of his own job. His program was good, he knew that. And even Lard Nar had said that Dib was ready. 

Still. 

He knew that there was a lot depending on his ability to provide a lasting distraction. Oddly enough, he was less worried about being “bait” as he had been a few months back. Now, he just felt nervous for his friends, for the members of SpOps, who would be on Irk and on the Massive. If he failed, they would be the first to die.

More than anything, he wanted this coup to succeed. But a nagging voice in the back of his brain told him that success would be pointless if he lost Zim. 

He sighed, swinging his legs a bit as he tried to clear his head. Ahead of him, the sun was starting to rise. 

Meekrob’s sun was bright and orange, not unlike Sirius Minor’s star. Though, Meekrob was far enough away from its sun that it didn’t appear huge in the sky, but it was still there, a sliver in the distance, illuminating the volcanoes that stretched across the horizon. A harbinger of a new day, whether Dib liked it or not. 

Dib knew that soon, the rest of SpOps would make their way over to the spacecraft hangar, and he would have to get down and make his way to their meeting spot. He checked his watch and noted that he still had some time, so he sat on his hands and leaned forward, watching as the nocturnal life forms began to make their way back to their homes. 

 

He was still sitting there, his eyes half-closed, when a shrill voice from below screamed his name. 

“Hi, Dib!”

Dib rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“Hi, GIR,” he called, looking down to see the SIR and his master standing at the base of the tower, looking up at him.

After a pause, Dib tilted his head in a “come here” motion. Zim nodded back at him and started to climb.

When Zim finally made it to the top of the tower, he plopped himself down next to Dib and rested his arms on the railing in front of him.

“It’s dangerous up here,” noted Zim. “You should get down.”

Dib just shrugged.

“I figured it was fine.” 

Zim just grunted, clearly unwilling to argue. Dib bit his lip.

The sun continued to rise, steadily, slowly, and Dib looked over his shoulder in time to see the giant, red beacon switch off. 

A few weeks ago, Zim had told him that the top of the aircraft warning tower was the highest point in Resisty City, just a bit higher than Dib’s dormitory tower. Sitting on the lookout deck, Dib could see Headquarters and his tower from here, just a few blocks away from the hangar. Over there was the hospital, perched on a cliff overlooking the lake. Down that way was their park, where Dib’s favorite tree sat, its heavy, teardrop leaves still and shining with morning dew.

“So,” said Dib, finally, “how’d you find me?”

Zim shrugged.

“I don’t have a tracking device on you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Sounds like something someone who _does_  have a tracking device on me would say.”

Zim leaned back, looking at Dib with one eye wide and the other almost squinted shut.

“You are so annoying,” he said. 

Dib laughed, a quiet chuckle.

“So, you’re not gonna tell me?”

“If you must know, GIR pointed you out,” said Zim.

Dib looked down, where GIR was climbing the warning tower like a rock wall, jumping from light to light, giggling the entire time. 

“Lucky me,” murmured Dib, and he saw Zim lick his lips out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, he likes you,” said Zim.

Dib just shook his head.

“You probably shouldn’t be awake at this hour,” noted Zim in what was clearly an attempt at being casual, but Dib could sense the worry in Zim’s voice.

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Dib. “Maybe because you made me go to bed ridiculously early last night.” 

Zim scoffed. “Please. As if you weren’t texting _Skoodge_ all night.” 

“Maybe, a little,” Dib allowed. “Why, are you jealous?”

“Of Skoodge? Unlikely,” said Zim. “To imply such a thing is an insult to the both of us.”

“Why me?” asked Dib. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Well,” said Zim, resting his head on his arms, “are you implying I have a reason to be jealous of your frequent communications with Skoodge?”

Dib rolled his eyes.

“Of course not.”

“See, if you were to say yes, I would be embarrassed on your behalf. For choosing someone so... Skoodge-y.”

“You’re so mean. Skoodge is nice.”

“Perhaps,” said Zim softly. “But he’s nothing compared to me.”

Dib looked over and locked eyes with Zim. He noted the irken’s smug little smile, and he just shook his head.

He knew what Zim was doing: trying to get a rise out of him, to distract him with some meaningless fake drama. He appreciated it, even if it wasn’t working that well.

“Well, you’ve got me in a box here, Zim. I guess I have to agree,” he said.

Zim’s smile twitched, a sign of agitation at Dib’s refusal to play along. He turned to looked back out at the city, and Dib heard him mutter, “obviously,” under his breath.

It wasn’t that Dib didn’t want Zim here. It was that having Zim around only made Dib all the more aware that this might be it for them. One or both of them could get captured or killed. Talking to Zim just made Dib feel crappy, the anticipated grief forming a very real, very hard knot in his stomach.

“You look nice,” said Dib. 

Zim grunted. “I don’t like it.”

Dib was only a little surprised that Zim had already gotten into his disguise for the mission. He leaned back on his palms and looked Zim over, dragging his eyes down the long, white technician’s lab coat. On the right breast was the Irken engineering insignia. It made Dib’s stomach flip. 

Zim was looking at him, his usual berry colored eyes disguised by green lenses.

“Did you have to change your eyes?” asked Dib, his own gaze flicking up to meet Zim’s.

“Kind of,” said Zim with a shrug. “It’s the most common color that comes out of the science and engineering smeetery. If I went with my natural eye color, I’d look out of place.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, me neither. Here...”

Dib watched as Zim peeled green lenses off of his eyes.

"I can put them back on later."

Dib just nodded, unsure of what to say as his own nervousness reared back up. He looked away.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. Dib watched at the sun’s light slowly stretched across the horizon, lighting the sky around it a gentle, familiar pink. The lake, usually a deep blue, turned green under the sunrise’s close light, and it reminded Dib of Sirius Minor’s ocean.

“Wanna see something?” asked Zim.

“Yeah,” said Dib, tearing his eyes away from the water.

“Check this out.”

Zim reached down for the hem of his lap coat, pulling it up as he stretched out his leg and exposed a chunky platform boot.

“Wow,” said Dib, unable to hide a laugh. “Look at you.”

“Officially Brain drone height,” said Zim with a scoff. “What a privilege.”

“But now what will you do with your Napoleonic complex?” wondered Dib aloud.

“I don’t understand your question,” said Zim, his tiny bump of a nose in the air, “and I won’t dignify it with a response.” 

“Right.”

He watched Zim smooth his coat back down over his leg, his eyes glazing over as he realized that this was probably the last time they’d be alone together before the mission.

So, if there was anything he needed to say, he should probably say it now.

Below them, GIR fell off the warning tower. He screamed for a moment, then fell asleep. 

Time passed in slow motion as Dib sat next to Zim, both of them watching as the sun continued to rise into the sky.

“I can’t stop thinking about Sirius Minor,” whispered Dib eventually.

Zim looked over at him.

“Why?” he asked.

“I just… I dunno. It was so nice,” mumbled Dib. “I know it’s not… it’s better now, that we’ve talked…”

Pretty extensively, actually. They’d been talking almost nonstop since Dib’s conversation with Tenn last week. About everything: the Control Brains, the Tallest, PAKs,Gaz, Professor Membrane, Earth, Irk. 

“I dunno,” repeated Dib. “It was just really nice and simple.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Zim subtly pluck off his glove. He felt a warm, small hand rest on top of his.

Dib looked at their hands. Since he’d talked to Tenn, he’d realized how much things that he considered little, like holding hands, could hurt Zim.

“This okay?” asked Dib, glancing from their hands to Zim’s face.

Zim nodded.

“You sure?”

“Yes. After a very thorough cost-benefit analysis, I have decided that this is fine,” said Zim with a tilt of his head.

“Okay,” said Dib with a small smile, “just checking.”

Silence again, but this time it didn’t feel awkward or unpleasant. This time, Dib decided to pretend he was just relaxing, sitting on a tower with his lover, watching the sun rise.

Eventually, Zim broke the silence.

“I think about Foodcourtia,” he said.

Dib looked over, surprised.

“Foocourtia? Why?”

“It just… I think about what I would be doing if I were still there. If none of this had happened.”

Dib just nodded, because thinking about what Zim would be doing if he were still prisoner there was… tough.

“Well, you’re here now. That’s good, right?”

Zim hummed.

“Because of you,” he murmured.

Dib felt Zim’s hand tighten around his. He looked over at Zim, realizing just how much he remembered from that day on Foodcourtia, months and months ago. Zim’s Shloogorgh’s uniform, Sizz-Lorr, the grimy bathrooms. Scaling a building, escaping, kissing, arguing, shaking hands. 

“Thank you,” said Zim, startling Dib. “For… for rescuing me. For everything.”

Dib bit his lip. He looked at Zim.

“You’re welcome,” he said. Then, after a pause: “Thank _you_.”

Zim laughed.

“For what?” he asked, his face twisted in a humorless smile. “For nearly getting your arm blown off? For lying to you? For—”

“For all of it. This whole big adventure,” said Dib. He didn't know if he wanted to keep talking, to really bare his soul, here, but this fresh wave of sickly-sweet sentimentality was overwhelming. “I guess I just never had anyone care about me the way you do. It’s, uh, you know. It’s neat.”

Zim just shook his head, unwilling to cooperate.

“There are many people who care about you now. Shloonktapooxis, Skoodge, Tenn… they all like you, Dib. It isn’t just me. They all care about you. Even Lard Nar likes you, and I was not optimistic about your apprenticeship with him when Tenn proposed it.”

Dib felt his face warm. He supposed Zim was right — he had made a few good friends since coming to Meekrob. Weird, how when he met Zim, he had been so proud of his independence. Now, solitude was the last thing he could imagine wanting.

“Lard Nar offered me a job to work with him,” he noted, not really thinking as he said it. “He said I could come help him on Vort.”

Zim just nodded. A small reaction, Dib thought. But he felt Zim’s grip on his hand tighten just a little more.

“Vort is a nice planet. Lots of cliffs and mountains.”

“That’s cool,” said Dib, feeling like he might have said something wrong.

“Before Irk conquered them, it was one of the most advanced planets in the entire universe. I imagine you’d learn a lot there, and Lard Nar would pay you handsomely to work for him.”

A beat of silence, and Zim went on: “Obviously, the food there was renowned. As were the homes. Vortians love their creature comforts.” 

Zim swallowed.

“I think you would be very happy there. Dare I say, the Vort Dogs are better than the ones on Foodcourtia.”

“What about you?” asked Dib. “Where will you go?”

“Back to Irk,” said Zim. “If this coup succeeds, Irk will need a new government, an entirely new system of leadership… Tenn doesn’t say it, but I think she wants to fill that role. To lead.”

“She’d be good at it,” said Dib. “She’s doing a good job now, with the Resisty.”

Zim barked out a laugh.

“You should have seen them before she came along. They were in desperate need of leadership. A total joke.”

Dib thought on that.

“Yeah, I think I could believe that.” 

“Although, the Meekrob helped, too, I suppose.”

“Right.”

“But I think it was mostly Tenn.”

Dib smiled to himself. Then, he thought back on what Zim had just said, and he felt a quick nervousness flutter through his chest.

“So, you’ll go back to Irk?”

“Yes,” said Zim.

“And you think I should go to Vort?”

He watched Zim’s face change, eventually settling on a tense, clenched-jaw expression.

“I think you should go wherever you want to go,” he said.

Dib felt a quick pang of sadness at the words. Then, he laughed, because the whole thing was just so ridiculous, so typical Zim.

“You seriously think… after _all this_ , that I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

“Well!” snapped Zim, turned to face Dib. “I just wanted you to have options! I didn’t want you to think you _had to_ —”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“If you didn’t want to come to Irk, I wasn’t going to _force_ you!”

“Of course I want to come with you to Irk, Zim, you idiot!” laughed Dib.

Zim glared at him.

“Don’t call me an idiot.”

“Fine,” said Dib. “I’m sorry. But, seriously, Zim. After all this? You know I want to be with you, right?”

Zim grumbled something that sounded like, “I guess so.”

“And you want to be with me?” asked Dib, feeling his own nagging doubt rise up again.

“Of course I do,” said Zim, and Dib felt the hand clenched around his relax a little. “I wouldn’t be sitting on this death trap of a tower if I didn’t.”

“I think it’s nice up here,” commented Dib. 

“Well, whatever,” said Zim, lacing his fingers between Dib’s. “I’m just glad that’s settled.”

“Yeah,” said Dib, “me too.”

There was so much that Dib wanted. He wanted this revolution to succeed. He wanted freedom for Vort, and Boodie Nen, and all of the colonies. Not just that — he wanted to help free them. To do something meaningful with his life, like back when he was on Earth, protecting his people from werewolves and zombies and other monsters. He wanted to finally see Irk. He wanted to be with Zim.

Right now, though, all of his other desires felt like nothing compared to how badly he wanted to kiss Zim.

He’d made a promise to himself not to, though. This time, it was surprisingly easy to restrain himself. It was almost embarrassing, thinking back to when he and Zim were living on _The Mothman_ , and he’d had such a hard time controlling himself. Now, though, he found that his desire to protect Zim from his own PAK won out over his desire for proof that Zim loved him.

Maybe it was the conversation with Tenn that finally made all the pieces fall into place, or maybe it was the fact that Dib was actually making an effort to be a more selfless, mature person. Regardless, Dib finally understood how much Zim struggled with his PAK, with a fucking voice in his head, all the time, and he finally understood that placating his own worries wasn’t the priority. He wondered if, right now, Zim’s PAK was punishing him for holding hands. He wondered how tiring that must be, to be punished for wanting and feeling such basic, simple things.

He and Zim had sat down for lunch after Zim’s talk with Tenn about “work stuff.” To Zim’s surprise, Dib proposed a rule: that they wouldn’t do anything that would activate or further agitate the PAK’s censors. 

So, they’d spent the last few days preparing for the revolution and making the most of their time together. They had hung out at their park, walked the perimeter of the city with GIR, and looked for shells on the beach. They’d watched TV and played video games. They’d talked, a lot, about their past, their feelings, everything. It was tiring, and Dib couldn’t really say he enjoyed it, but he felt better over time as they worked things out. He likened it to running the track with Shloonktapooxis (not necessarily fun, but healthy). Still, despite all of their conversations, they’d abided by another, unspoken rule: Do not talk about the revolution, and do not talk about what might happen after.

Of course, they’d just broken the second rule. And, judging by the look on Zim’s face, holding hands was a violation of the first.

“Do you hear it, right now?” asked Dib softly. 

“Yeah,” said Zim, the word sounding like he was forcing it out. “It’s fine, though. It’s worth it.”

Dib bit his lip.

Soon, this will all be behind them. Soon, they could finally just _be_.

Ahead of them, the sun had almost completely crossed the horizon, the light stretching across the city toward them.

Dib squeezed Zim’s hand.

“Are you excited?” whispered Dib. 

“Nervous,” said Zim, matching Dib’s volume.

“Why?” asked Dib, still whispering, because talking about _this_ , about Zim being free from his PAK, felt almost taboo. Like, if they spoke about it loudly enough, they might jinx it.

“I don’t know what it’ll be like,” muttered Zim. “I’ve had the Brains in my head my entire life. I don’t even know… who I’ll be, once they’re gone.”

Dib swallowed.

“You’ll be you,” he said.

“I might be different.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“You might not… you might want to go to Vort,” choked out Zim, and Dib felt the hand in his start to shake.

Dib took a deep breath. 

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Zim looked at him, surprised by his casual tone.

“Dib,” he said, “I don’t want you to think that you have to—”

“I want to,” said Dib, and he meant it. 

He’d known for a while how messed up Zim was from the PAK, and he’d actually had the foresight to recognize that all those issues weren’t just going to magically go away once the Brains were shut down. Maybe things got worse before they got better. Dib didn’t mind. 

“It will be so strange,” said Zim, looking from Dib to the horizon in front of them, “having the only voice in my head be my own thoughts.”

“Well, that’s why you need me around,” said Dib, desperate to lighten the mood. “I talk all the time.” 

Next to him, Zim laughed, and Dib smiled in return. 

“It’ll be okay,” said Dib. “We’ll figure all this out.”

Zim nodded. Careful not to break rule number one, Dib looked away, at the horizon.

“Sun’s up,” Zim said. 

And it was. Mission Day had officially begun.

 

**ii.**

They made their way down to the ground floor of the spacecraft hangar. Tenn was already waiting for them, as was Skoodge. They exchanged nervous, awkward pleasantries as the rest of SpOps filtered in. When everyone had arrived, they separated into their designated groups. Axon, Lard Nar, Spleenk, and Shloonktaxpooxis stood together. Tenn and Skoodge, both dressed as technicians with green contact lenses in their eyes, stood with Zim and their SIRs (Skoodge's stood at attention by his master, GIR was sitting on the floor, chewing a giant wad of gum). For the first time since Dib had met her, Tenn wore a prosthetic on her bad antenna, so lifelike that Dib forgot for a second that it was fake. 

And Dib wanted to smack himself for only just now realizing that he was alone.

“Okay,” said Tenn. “We’re all here. Let’s go over this one last time.”

“The Massive is currently in the Iota Sector. Our guy sent us their coordinates last night, and Dib and I were able to lock onto the Massive's transmission signal,” said Lard Nar with a nod toward Dib. “It’ll take us a day to fly there, and then the fun begins. Shloonktapooxis, Axon, Spleenk, and I will board the Massive. Once we’re on, we’ll send the signal to everyone.” 

The group’s eyes all went to Dib. Dib swallowed.

“When I get the signal from Lard Nar, I’ll hack into the Massive’s operating system and install my program, so they can’t see where I’m controlling them from. Then I lock onto the power core, so I can control it remotely from my ship. From the operating system, I keep shields up but put weapons offline, and just, uh, you know. Mess with stuff.” 

“‘Mess with stuff?’” asked Tenn.

“Yeah, you know. Take down security, turn off all the lights, open their snack reserves so all their nachos go flying into space. That kind of thing. Keep them distracted.”

Even though it felt silly to say, Tenn rewarded Dib’s description with a serious nod.

“Right,” she said, “and while Dib is distracting the Tallest, Irk’s best engineers will be alerted and sent to provide support for the Massive. While Irk responds to the crisis, Zim, Skoodge, and I will enter the Control Building disguised as technicians. We disable security and upload Zim’s PAK data onto the Main Brains’ hard drive. It’ll make the Main Brains go crazy, the other Brains will open the network to run diagnostics, and then we re-upload copies of Zim’s data onto the Brains' system until it crashes. The Resisty will be notified when the Brains are down.”

Everyone looked back at Dib.

“When the Brains are down, I pilot the Massive to Irk,” he said.

“Right,” said Tenn. “While Dib’s doing that, we broadcast a message to every irken in the PAK Network and tell them they’re free. Whether they come back to Irk or not is up to them, but we’ll have the entire Resisty on Irk when Dib gets there with the Massive — enough muscle that the Tallest will have no choice but to step aside and relinquish control of the colonies. Then, we’ll be free.”

They all stood silent for a moment. Dib bit his lip. He watched Tenn look around at the entire group, her face hardened with determination.

“We can do this, SpOps,” she said. “This is what we’ve been training for. I know every last one of you is up to the challenge. Today is the last day of the Empire as we know it. Tomorrow, we will be liberated.”

Around him, the members of SpOps contributed words of encouragement. Dib nodded along, still feeling a pit in his stomach. He looked behind him, where _The Mothman_ was parked. He and Zim had taken it for a spin the other day, just to make sure it didn’t need any maintenance before the trip. He stared at the new co-pilot’s seat, his stomach twisting at the thought of himself doing this whole mission alone. 

He heard a soft voice: “Dib?”

He turned back around to see that the SpOps subunits had already dispersed: Tenn and Skoodge were packing up the Zhook Cruiser while Lard Nar and his team were standing by Lard Nar’s mid-sized Vortian cruiser, discussing final details. Zim stood in front of him, almost tall in his platform shoes. 

“Here,” said Zim, reaching forward to slide up the sleeve of Dib’s jumpsuit. 

Once the inside of Dib’s wrist was exposed, Zim reached into the pocket of his lab coat and produced a pink patch. He stuck it to Dib’s skin, and Dib shuddered under the feeling of gentle fingers on his pulse. He noted, too, that Zim had sharpened his nails into points that poked him, even through the protective rubber glove. 

“What’s it do?” asked Dib, holding the patch up to his face.

“It’ll keep you awake,” said Zim. “Plus, keep you hydrated. And, it’ll pump in some nutrients, uh, you know, some vitamins that you might need. Don’t worry, it’s safe. I made it myself.”

“Thanks.”

“Just, if your urine turns blue, then take it off.”  


Dib looked up, his face hot. 

“Uh… thanks.”

“Yeah, um, don’t mention it.”

They stared at each other as the rest of SpOps intentionally avoided looking in their direction. Dib drew in a shaky breath.

“What happens if the Brains fight back?” he heard himself whisper. Silently, he cursed himself for letting the worry slip from his mouth.

“I’ll be okay, Dib,” murmured Zim. “The Brains have tried to deactivate me before, and it hasn’t worked. It won’t work this time, either.”

“What if, I don’t know, there’s new security, or something? What if you can’t get the network down? What if—?”

“Dib,” said Zim, taking Dib by the hand, “we can do this. I will be okay.” 

Dib felt his heartbeat in his throat.

"How's your PAK?"

Zim looked away, then wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Don't lie, Zim."

Zim looked up, startled, but he nodded his head.

"It's as good as it'll ever be with the Brains still controlling it," he said.

"Zim," said Dib, "does it really have to be you? It can't be... I don't know, Tenn?"

Zim took a deep breath, then took Dib's hand in his.

"I can finally make it all up," he said, tracing along the veins in the back of Dib's hand with a light touch. "I need to make things right." 

He looked up at Dib, his eyes wide and wet. Dib felt his own eyes go prickly with unshed tears.

“What if I can’t get into the Massive, and you guys are stranded on Irk with no one—?”

“You’ll get in,” said Zim, his hold on Dib’s hand tightening. “Do not worry. If anyone can get into the Massive, it’s you.”

“What if there’s more than we think?” asked Dib. “What if it’s harder to get into? Like, what if there’s passwords, or, or codes, or—?”

“Dib, enough,” said Zim. 

Dib blinked, surprised by Zim’s firmness.

“We will be okay. You will do great.”

Zim’s touch moved from Dib’s hand to the side of his face. Dib gulped, trying to relax.

“Be calm, Dib. Everything will work out. I’ll see you in just a few days.” 

“Okay,” said Dib, allowing himself to reach up and hold the hand that was cupping his cheek. “You’re right.” 

He stared down at Zim, his chest tight. 

“Next time we see each other, Irk will be free,” said Zim. “And we can do whatever we want.”

Dib smiled.

“That sounds good.”

“Except, I’d rather not go back to Foodcourtia,” said Zim.

“Yeah, no,” laughed Dib, “we don’t have to.”

“Okay, good.”

Dib bit his lip, looking down into Zim’s wide, berry eyes.

“Plus, you know,” said Zim, a wry smile forming on his face. “If you ever run into a passcode you can’t crack, just try ‘snacks.’ Knowing the Tallest, that’s probably what they’ll protect their flagship with.”

Dib laughed, relieved to feel the tightness release, just a little.

“Will do, space boy.”

They smiled at each other, and Dib realized that he really didn’t have a choice. He _had_ to do this. Because there was no way he could truly be with Zim if the Brains were still online. 

A cough broke Dib and Zim from their moment, and Dib looked up to see that the rest of SpOps were waiting for them. Dib felt his face heat up. Zim looked over his shoulder and sighed.

“This is it,” he said.

“I’ll see you… when it’s over,” said Dib.

“I’ll see you when it’s over,” repeated Zim, and he turned to walk away.

Dib watched him walk toward Tenn and Skoodge, GIR jumping up to trail behind him. He turned, trying to get his emotions in check, and opened the windshield of _The Mothman_. Then, he heard awkward, clunky footsteps behind him. 

“Wait, Dib!” 

Dib looked back, and there was Zim, holding GIR in outstretched arms.

“Uh, yeah?” asked Dib, looking down at the robot, who was loudly smacking his gum.

"Hi, Dib!"

"Hi, GIR — "

“Take GIR with you! He can help!” said Zim, pushing the robot into Dib’s arms. 

“Uh, you know, that’s not really—” 

“Great idea, Zim!” called Tenn from behind them. “Now, let’s go!”

Dib looked up and locked eyes with Tenn, who was fixing him with hard look.

“...Okay,” he said, looking down at Zim. “Uh, thanks.”

“I know what you're thinking,” said Zim. “But, really. He’s not so bad. He could be helpful.”

Dib swallowed. He looked down at the robot in his arms.

“Hi, Dib!”

“Hi, GIR.”

 

They parted ways again, and Dib climbed into _The Mothman_. He plopped GIR into the co-pilot’s seat. He started the ship and took off, following Lard Nar and Tenn out the hangar and into the air.

“Agent Mothman, do you copy?” asked Tenn, and Dib felt a childish little zing of excitement at hearing his old name.

“Loud and clear,” he answered, smiling into his communicator.

Tenn sent him a quick confirmation, and he watched her Zhook Cruiser take off in the direction of Irk. Ahead of him, he knew Lard Nar and his crew were preparing to engage their SF-Drive. Dib did the same, swatting GIR’s hands away as the robot poked at random keys on the control panel. 

They jumped to SF-Speed.

In a day, Dib would be at the Massive, seizing control of their power core. He swallowed. 

The Almighty Tallest were waiting for him.

Well, him and GIR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what Chekhov always said: "If in the second act you have hung a GIR on the wall, then by the end, he should contribute something to the story. You can't just add him in because you like him, Andy." (I guess I'm paraphrasing)


	20. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, it's gonna be forever. Or, it's gonna go down in flames." - Taylor Swift

**i.**

“What’s this do?”

“Please stop.”

“What’s this do?”

“Please. Stop.”

“What’s this do?”

“Hey, GIR,” said Dib, reaching out to grab the robot’s wrists, “wanna play a game?”

GIR gasped. “YES!”

“Okay, all you have to do is not touch any buttons while you’re in my ship,” said Dib.

“What do I win?” shrieked GIR.

“Um… what do you want?” 

At that point, GIR rattled off a list of various snacks and treats. Which, actually, kept him occupied for about half an hour, but only because he kept repeating himself.

Eventually, Dib had to cut in.

“You already said tacos.”

“Oh,” said GIR, crestfallen.

“But, hey, it’s fine,” said Dib. “You can have all of that. Just don’t touch _anything_.”

“Okay!” said GIR. “Wanna hear a song?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Dib, a little surprised. “I have some music—”

“I’m gonna sing it!”

“No, why don’t we—”

But, it was too late. GIR sang for the next three hours, and Dib did all he could to hold onto his sanity as he followed Lard Nar to the Massive.

For the rest of the day, Dib fluctuated between wanting to throw GIR into deep space and feeling desperately grateful for the company. GIR was obnoxious, and noisy, and he jumped around the cabin like a puppy, but, half the time, he was a welcome distraction from Dib’s inner turmoil.

They drove through space, impossibly fast and going in the opposite direction of Tenn’s Zhook Cruiser. 

Space felt different now. Before, it had been endless possibility, worlds to explore, and adventures to be had. Now, all he could think about was how empty it was, how so much of it was a void, a vacuum, sucking Dib and Zim in opposite directions. It made his hands shake, thinking how far he was from Zim, how they’d be facing all kinds of danger while they were unfathomably far apart. 

He found himself wishing that he’d gone with Zim — somehow, couldn’t they have come up with a plan that involved Dib hacking the Massive from Irk? What if they needed him there? What if the Control Brains, powerful as they were, could withstand Zim’s corrupted PAK? What if the Resisty had been underestimating them the entire time? 

Dib had done his research. He knew how the Brains interacted with PAKs, and he knew the system that the Brain Network operated on. It wasn’t complicated, but it was powerful. When Dib thought about Zim’s PAK in comparison, it was… 

Terrifying. 

But, Zim had insisted. Zim wanted to do this, for his people, for the good of Irk. He had told Dib that he wanted to do something good with the corruption that he’s been living with his whole life. 

Dib thought that was noble, but also stupid, and he felt his heart clench at the thought of his brave, foolish alien.

 

Finally, a message from Lard Nar. 

They were close.

With a few quick keystrokes, _The Mothman_ was cloaked. This was it.

He would open a communication line with Lard Nar via _The Mothman_ ’s audio transmitter. First, though, he pulled his communicator off his jumpsuit. He dialed Zim.

“Dib?”

Dib swallowed. This was not part of the plan, and Dib knew that he should be coordinating with Lard Nar right now. One short call couldn’t hurt though, right?

“Hey,” breathed Dib. “We’re almost there.”

“Yes, I saw,” said Zim. “As are we. Preparing for landing in a few minutes.”

Dib swallowed. He looked over at GIR, who was slumped in his seat, watching a movie on Dib’s laptop, completely unaware of his surroundings. Dib shook his head. If only he’d figured that trick out hours ago.

“Dib?” he heard, and his head snapped back to the communicator. “Is there something you need?”

“Uh,” muttered Dib. “No, just thought I’d let you know, we’re almost here. I’ll just…”

He drew in a shaky breath. “I’ll talk to you later?” 

He heard some rustling, then the sound of Zim informing Tenn and Skoodge that he was leaving the cockpit but would return shortly.

“Is everything okay?” asked Zim, his voice a whisper. “Is it GIR?”

“No, no,” said Dib, unknowingly matching Zim’s volume, though his voice rose in pitch. “GIR’s great. Well, I mean, he’s fine.” 

A beat of silence.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Dib murmured, “while you’re there and I’m here.” 

“I know,” whispered Zim. “It is… not ideal.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dib, his heart racing. “I shouldn’t have called. You probably have to—”

“I’m glad you called,” Zim cut in. “I missed you.”

Dib sighed. 

“I missed you, too.”

A beeping sound made both Dib and GIR jump. The words “INCOMING TRANSMISSION” flashed in Dib’s face.

“I’m sorry, Zim, I have to go.” 

“As do I. I’ll see you very soon,” said Zim, and Dib thought that Zim was choosing his words carefully.

“Yeah,” said Dib. And there it was: the Massive. Pink and enormous, even from this distance. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Dib ended the call.

He opened a line with Lard Nar, thinking that this whole endeavor was going to make everything worth it. Or, they would lose it all.

“Transporting,” said Lard Nar.

Through Lard Nar’s hidden communicator, he heard a quick exchange with some guards in the transporter room.

After some grunting and rustling, and then a beeping sound that indicated that Lard Nar had added Tenn to the call, Dib heard a muffled, “Proceed,” and he knew it was time.

Dib got into the Massive’s security systems with ease. He locked onto the power core and installed his program in just a few minutes, and then he was into the security system. He pulled up a security camera feed, and, sure enough, there were Lard Nar, Spleenk, Axon, and Shloonktapooxis, standing right where they’d said they would be. 

“I’m in,” he said.

Tenn’s voice rang through his communicator. “Well done, Agent Mothman. We’re heading into the Control Room now.”

Dib bit his lip, too nervous to smile at the pride in her voice, but appreciative nonetheless. His code name, dug up from a lifetime ago, rang in his ears. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “No extra security hitting me yet. But, they’ll know we’re here soon. Blackout coming in three… two… one.”

Ahead of him, the Massive went dark. Through Lard Nar’s communicator, Dib could hear shouts of confusion.

“Excellent, Mothman,” came Lard Nar’s voice. “Let’s get in position.” 

Spleenk and Lard Nar headed to the bridge. Axon left to monitor the power core. Shloonktapooxis went to guard the loading deck, to make sure no ships got in or out.

A chorus of confirmation that everyone was in position, then Dib took a deep breath.

A few more quick keystrokes, and Dib had hacked the ship’s security and granted himself access to every room and camera on the ship. Then, he closed and locked every door.

“Security’s down,” said Dib. “Let me know where you need to go, and I’ll unlock the doors for you. Otherwise, everyone is stuck where they are.” 

“Disable the transporter and discharge the escape pods,” said Lard Nar.

“But—”

“Do it, Agent Mothman,” said Lard Nar. “No one gets in or out. Including us.”

Dib took a deep breath. He did as he was told.

“Okay, disabled and discharged.”

“We’re in the Control Room,” said Tenn, and Dib felt his arms break out in goosebumps. “Agent Mothman, prepare for attack protocols soon. Irk knows what you’re doing and is preparing a counterstrike. They’ll be targeting you any time now.”

“Okay,” said Dib.

Next to him, GIR was watching _Galaxy Quest_. Dib peeked over, trying to calm himself down.

“Connecting Zim to the Main Brain in three… two…” 

_The Mothman_ beeped, signaling a dropped call, and Tenn’s line went dead. Which wasn’t part of the plan. 

Dib panicked for one second before he was hit with a barrage of counterattacks.

“Shit,” he whispered. 

He’d prepared, though, and he was doing a pretty good job of defending himself. But, he hadn’t expected the sheer volume of strikes, and his hairline was starting to sweat as his fingers flew across his keyboard. 

“Everything going okay, Mothman?” Dib heard, after what felt like hours. 

“Going fine,” grunted Dib, even as his hands were starting to shake. He cracked his knuckles and buckled down, begging himself to focus on the hundreds of attacks coming at him, and not on the fact that Zim was probably hooked up to the Brains right now.

“We seem to have lost the others,” noted Lard Nar, “which is fine, nothing to worry about. Perhaps a dead battery, or an issue with the signal. Is everyone else alright?”

“Party Hat here, doing fine,” said Shloonktapooxis, and Dib felt a small pang of relief at his friend’s casual tone.

“Pirate Monkey Alpha and I are outside the bridge if you need us, Mothman,” said Spleenk, and Dib tried to smile at Lard Nar’s ridiculous code name. It ended up being more of a grimace. “Ready and in position.”

“Thanks,” Dib ground out.

“Cerberus, status update,” said Lard Nar, referring to Axon in a code name that Dib had come up with.

Nothing.

“Cerberus?”

Silence.

“Cerberus, do you copy?”

More silence, and Dib felt his stomach flip. He kept typing, keeping the counterattacks at bay.

Next to him, GIR slammed Dib’s laptop shut.

“I’m hungry!” he announced.

“You’re a robot,” grunted Dib. “You don’t need to eat.”

Through the communicator, Dib could hear Lard Nar, still trying to reach Axon.

“But… I’m hungry,” said GIR, putting his little robot hand on Dib’s elbow.

“Then go find something to eat and leave me alone!” grumbled Dib, ripping his arm from GIR’s grip.

“Okay!”

GIR scurried off as Dib blocked an impressive counterstrike. He swallowed, noting that whatever irkens were fighting him were upping their game. 

Lard Nar’s pleas died out, and Dib heard Shloonktapooxis take over. “Agent Mothman, I need you to get me to the power core.”

Dib gritted his teeth.

“You’re not going anywhere, Party Hat,” snapped Lard Nar. “Stay put!”

“Mothman, do it now.”

“Uhhh.” Dib bit his lip. 

With _The Mothman_ ’s computer screen taking up the entire windshield, Dib couldn’t see past his code, or past the defenses trying to block his access. He felt sweaty and overwhelmed, and Shloonktapooxis’s request only made him more stressed.

“Mothman, ignore him,” hissed Lard Nar. “We agreed to stay at our stations no matter what, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“We also agreed to keep the line open, and Eleven’s been offline for half an hour!” growled Shloonktapooxis, and Dib felt his hands freeze. Tenn had been gone for half an hour?

His hesitation cost him dearly. In a moment, a video transmission was opening up on his screen, one that Dib hadn’t even accepted. He tried to ignore it, to continue fighting against the myriad of attacks against his computer and Massive defenses, and then he heard a voice.

“Hey!”

Dib looked up, and there they were. The Tallest. Almost impossible to see in the darkness of the bridge, but Dib could see their eyes, a set of red and a set of purple, staring at him. 

“Uh, hi,” said Dib through gritted teeth, his fingers still flying across his keyboard.

“What are you doing!?” came another voice, this one a bit deeper than the first.

Dib paused, just long enough to close the video call. 

“What was that?” asked Lard Nar.

“Tallest,” said Dib, his fingers starting to cramp. “Any word from Eleven?”

“Nothing so far,” said Lard Nar. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Pirate Monkey Beta and I are going to help you out.”

“What are you doing?” asked Shloonktapooxis.

“Going to the bridge. Wish us luck.”

Dib bit his lip, but he kept going, his whole face burning.

Next to him, GIR plopped into the co-pilot’s seat, holding a tub of laundry pods.

Dib looked over briefly, then did a double take.

“Are you eating those?”

“Ye!”

“How many have you had?”

“Lots!” 

“GIR, you can’t—” a beeping distracted Dib, and he turned back to the computer. With a sigh of relief, he realized the Massive’s defenses had stopped coming. Whatever Lard Nar and Spleenk were doing, it was working. 

Dib was about to say something to GIR, but then he heard the sound of his communicator, beeping again. He checked it, frantic, hoping it was from Zim. It wasn’t.

_Let me into the power core. I have to check on Axon._

Dib clenched his jaw.

He heard the sound of loud chewing and looked over to see GIR, his mouth full, a dribble of blue detergent escaping past his smacking lips. He felt his face go red.

“GIR!” he barked.

“Yeeees?” responded GIR with a giggle.

“Stop eating those! You’ll get sick!”

“I will?” asked GIR, his little head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Yes!” snapped Dib. “At least… well, I think so?”

“Okay!” said GIR, and he went right back to stuffing laundry pods into his mouth.

Dib looked back up at his screen, just in time to see that Lard Nar and Spleenk had both gone offline as well.

“What just happened?” he hissed.

“I don’t know!” said Shloonktapooxis. “Look, Mothman, nothing is happening here. I’m stuck guarding a dock that no one can get to. Let me out.”

“I don’t—”

“Do it now!”

Dib hesitated, only for a second, and he saw a second video transmission opening up on his screen. Two sets of eyes stared at him, but he cut the transmission before they could talk.

“Stop distracting me!” shouted Dib.

“Just let me out!”

“FINE!”

But Dib was still distracted, thinking of Lard Nar, of Axon, of Zim, and he unlocked every door in the Massive instead of just the entrance to the ship from the main deck.

He realized his mistake a minute later, when he heard Shloonktapooxis scream, and he knew that he had made an enormous mistake.

“Shit!” he shouted, the wave of counterattacks suddenly increasing. “What do I do?”

Shloonktapooxis said nothing, but Dib could heard the sound of him struggling, shouting. He heard a voice, speaking deep, rumbling irken. Then, Shloonktapooxis was offline. Dib froze.

“Hello? Anyone?” he shouted, but there was no call, he was alone, in his cockpit, talking to no one but GIR sitting next to him.

“Hello?” Dib was screaming, desperate for someone to come back online, and GIR was screaming with him, probably just for the sake of screaming. 

Hot tears pricked at the corners of Dib’s eyes, and he blinked them away, his shaking hands still typing away. But, he couldn’t stop what was coming, and, eventually, he couldn’t see, his vision had gone bleary with unshed tears. 

He barely saw the video feed reopen, barely noticed until two irkens with flashlights under their faces were staring at him.

“So,” said the deep-voiced one, Red. “The Resisty got a hacker.”

“Not so great, though, are you, huh?” asked Purple. “Got all your friends thrown in the brig.”

The tears were flowing. Dib had failed.

“Ew, it’s crying,” said Purple.

“Hey,” said Red. “Stop that.” 

“Yeah, cut it out, it’s gross.”

Dib couldn’t say anything, his hands were shaking and he could barely fight the onslaught of defensive programming that was coming at him. He kept typing, unable to stop himself, unable to admit that it was really over. But, he knew he was losing.

“It’s ignoring us,” said Red, incredulous.

“Rude.”

Dib kept going, gritting his teeth, trying not to engage. He barely noticed when GIR climbed into his lap.

“Hey!” said Purple. “Why don’t you let us go—”

“What’s this button do?”

“and maybe we’ll let your friends—”

“What’s this button do?”

“live… hey, can you shut your SIR unit up so we can threaten you uninterrupted?”

“Yeah,” added Red. “Where’d you get that thing, anyway? And where are you? We wanna blow you up.”

Dib kept typing, brushing GIR’s hands away, the tears still rolling down his face.

“Hey! Hellooo!” called Red. “We’re talking about killing your friends! Pay attention to us!”

“Yeah,” agreed Purple, “and if you think you can keep typing codes or _whatever_ , and that’ll stop us from getting you out of our network, you’re wrong! We’ve got Irk’s finest fighting your dumb, single computer, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

That gave Dib pause. He realized, then, that the Tallest were talking to him. _Him_. Which meant that they didn’t know that the Brains were being taken down. Were they even being taken down? Where were Tenn, Zim, and Skoodge? 

“What’s this button do?”

Dib didn’t even notice what GIR was doing, he just kept going, the hard pit in his stomach only become more apparent.

The Tallest had given up on taunting Dib, and had broken off to talk to each other, when GIR tried to climb onto the control panel from Dib’s lap. Dib didn’t notice until it was too late, until GIR hooked an arm onto the yoke, then slipped and fell. Dib saw the yoke jut sideways for a moment out of the corner of his eye, and he braced himself for a hard rotation. But, it never came. Onscreen, the Tallest went flying out of frame.

Dib looked over at GIR, who was hanging off the yoke, holding it down.

“Good idea, GIR,” he said.

GIR just flashed him a syrupy, blue smile. 

With the Massive on its side, the amount of defenses Dib was fighting fell dramatically. Dib took a deep breath, hoping that the rest of SpOps were okay. Out of spite, he yanked the yoke in the other direction and watched the Tallest, as well as a group of service drones, go flying across the screen. 

He smiled, and his nervousness started to wane. He remembered what the Tallest had said, and he realized that they’d unintentionally shown their hand. With the flagship on its side, he brought the security system back up, then found the brig. Sure enough, Spleenk, Shloonktapooxis, Lard Nar, and even Axon were sitting in private, soundproof cells, rubbing their heads and looking around in surprise. 

With a couple of keystrokes, Dib opened their cells. He watched his friends dive out of their cells and reconvene in the center of the room, and then he watched them take down a handful of guards.

Then, the most blissful, musical beeping informed Dib that Lard Nar was calling him. Dib opened transmission just as a new flurry of attacks came through.

“Dib!” shrieked Lard Nar. “Disable artificial gravity and lock up the ship! For crying out loud, open the snack reserves!”

Dib did as he was told. 

“All right,” said Lard Nar, and Dib watched him power on his gravity boots.

The rest of the group, excluding Shloonktapooxis, of course, did the same. Next to Dib, GIR jumped back onto the yoke, and the ship jerked sideways.

“What are you doing!” screamed Lard Nar, and Dib winced at the sight of the old vortian flying into the ceiling.

“Sorry!” said Dib. “That was GIR!”

 

“Di- err, Agent Mothman, what happened?” asked Lard Nar. 

Dib filled him in, and he watched through the security camera as Lard Nar nodded his head.

“And now?”

“Still getting hit, but not as many are coming,” said Dib.

“And here? You’re back into the security cameras, right?”

Dib clicked around, jumping between the cameras in the bridge to the ones watching the power core and the transporter room.

He saw a handful of cruisers, docked but unable to access the Massive. 

“Looks okay,” said Dib. “The bridge is chaos, everyone’s just floating around screaming. No one’s getting into the ship. The power core is guarded, but the guards are floating about thirty feet above it.” 

“Good,” said Lard Nar. “And the others? Has Phase Two been completed?”

Dib felt his mouth dry up.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I haven’t heard from them yet.”

“Okay, let’s not—”

Another beeping sound. It was Tenn.

“Hello? Pirate Monkeys? Mothman? Do you copy?”

“Pirate Monkey Alpha here, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” thundered Lard Nar. 

“We were held up,” said Tenn, her voice even. “Our disguises worked a little too well, and we were dragged to the security tower to try to take down Agent Mothman. Everyone is okay.”

Lard Nar cursed.

“So, where are you now?” 

“We managed to sneak away… it’s a Code Pink here, guys.”

Lard Nar cursed again.

“Agent Mothman, here,” said Dib. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re coming for you,” said Tenn. “We’ve alerted Ixane and the Meekrob, and they're sending some Battle Cruisers your way. We’re in the Control Room now.”

A pause.

“This is happening,” said Tenn.

“Okay,” said Dib. “We’re ready over here.”

Even though he felt anything but ready. The wave of relief that hit him when he heard about where Zim had been immediately receded. Dib’s hands started shaking again.

“Commencing Phase Two,” said Tenn.

“Stay focused, Mothman,” Dib heard — Shloonktapooxis’s voice. He swallowed.

“I am,” he said, but his voice was shaking.

Dib was still staring at his screen, noticing that the lull in defenses seemed to have ended. Whatever was happening on Irk, he didn’t know, but he switched to the bridge and saw that a few irkens were also wearing gravity boots and were typing furiously into their own computers. 

He tried to focus on that, on fighting back, so he wouldn’t strain his ears to hear something, anything, through the deafening silence. He found himself checking to see if Tenn was still online, and she was, so what was happening? Why was it so quiet?

He heard Tenn murmur something, possibly in Irken, but he couldn’t understand it.

Then, he heard a scream, bloodcurdling and very familiar.

“Agent Mothman, stay focused!” shouted Lard Nar, but Dib couldn’t hear it, couldn’t stop himself from crying out.

“ _Zim_!” 

“ _Agent Mothman_ , stay focused,” repeated Lard Nar, but Dib was shaking, his brain stopped working, and tears were flowing down his cheeks again.

The screaming continued, and he heard Tenn and Skoodge talking frantically, too quietly for Dib to understand what they were saying. 

The storm of attacks kept coming, but Dib couldn’t keep up, his whole body felt like it was seizing, and he was screaming Zim’s name. 

The irkens got him. The lights in the Massive went back on, the artificial gravity was reenabled, Dib lost the security cameras, and the snack reservoirs had been shut tight, even though the snacks were already gone. 

“Dib,” shrieked Spleenk, “what are you doing?!”

He was falling apart. 

More screaming, more shouting, Tenn and Skoodge were fighting and Lard Nar was yelling at him. Dib felt his stomach roll, and he leaned forward, trying desperately to get a hold of himself.

“Hi, Dib!” he heard, and he looked up. 

GIR was standing on the control panel, his face right in Dib’s. Dib could smell laundry detergent.

Dib’s voice shook. “Hi, GIR.”

“Why you crying?”

Chaos around them, but GIR only seemed to understand that Dib was having a breakdown.

“It’s all falling apart, GIR,” Dib whispered. “Everything… we’re all doomed, we’re all gonna die, Zim, the mission—”

He was cut off by a tiny, metal hand, slapping him hard across the face. 

“THE MISSION MUST NOT FAIL!” boomed GIR in his tiny, tinny voice. 

Dib looked back at him, and his eyes and chest panel were red, his little antenna was pointed straight into the air.

GIR wound up and slapped Dib again, harder. 

“THE MISSION MUST NOT FAIL!”

“Ow! What the fuck, GIR?”

“THE MISSION!!!”

Dib looked past GIR, up at the screen, and saw that he was about to lose all control of the Massive.

“Shit, GIR, move!” he shouted, pushing the robot to the floor and reaching for his keyboard. 

Just in time, Dib was able to hold his ground and maintain control of the Massive. He got the security cameras back on. 

Lard Nar was still screaming at him. “Pull yourself together, man!”

“Okay, okay!” Dib grunted. “I’m sorry! I’m together!”

“Eleven!” barked Lard Nar. “Status update, now, please!”

A string of curses from Tenn, and Dib gripped the dashboard until his knuckles went white.

“We’re trying to get into the network, but they’ve got more security than we expected,” said Tenn, sounding more frazzled than Dib had ever heard her. “We don’t have a lot of time—”

“TAMPERING DETECTED,” Dib heard in a booming, robotic voice.

“Shit,” said Tenn, and Dib felt his stomach drop.

“What was that?” asked Lard Nar. 

“RESPONDING.”

“It’s the Brain, it's—” 

Tenn cut herself off with a scream. Dib felt his heartbeat pick up at the sound of Tenn, Skoodge, and Zim, all howling.

After a grueling thirty seconds of listening, in shock, to the sound of his three friends screaming like they were dying, Dib realized with a jolt that he’d just been blocked from the Massive’s operating system.

Everything was gone: the security, the cameras. All control Dib had over the Massive’s operating system had been blocked. A second later, his communicator buzzed, and he just saw a message from Tenn that read “ _HELP.”_  

Almost everything from his screen disappeared, and he saw stars, literally, and the Massive, looming ahead of him. 

He took a deep breath and reached for his communicator.

“I’m out of the operating system,” he said, trying to remain calm. “Find somewhere to hide.”

Lard Nar let out a string of curses, all aimed at Dib. Dib took it, eventually finding himself cutting Lard Nar off.

“I have to get into the Brain Network,” he said.

“The _Brain Network_?” barked Lard Nar. “You need to get control of this ship! If they cancel the Code Pink—”

“They’re dying!” Dib heard himself shout. “I have to at least try! Just… just find something to hang on to!”

“…What?”

Dib swallowed. He was out of the operating system, yes, but he was still locked onto the power core. And his program, undetected by the irkens on the Massive, was telling them that he’d completely lost control of the ship. 

He hadn’t. That much was still clear, as the code to his program stared back at him.

“Wake up, GIR,” said Dib, his voice shaking.

GIR, who had fallen asleep on the floor in the spot where Dib had pushed him, hopped up, ready for action.

“Hi, Dib!”

“Hi, GIR. You wanna drive?”

“YE!”

Dib pulled GIR onto his lap, standing the robot up so he could reach the yoke. 

“Go nuts.”

“I will!”

Ahead of him, for a brief second, Dib watched the Massive jolt onto its head. Dib nodded, satisfied, and got to work.

Next to him, GIR was cackling, messing around with the yoke and spinning the Massive in circles. Lard Nar started swearing again, but Dib ignored him.

Dib didn’t know what was happening on Irk, only that Tenn, Skoodge, and Zim, were all still in the Control Room, still screaming, and Zim was probably getting his PAK fried by the Brains. 

He hadn’t told anyone, but Dib had prepared for this. How could he not?

Dib found the network in a couple of minutes, and he was breaking down its defenses as quickly and efficiently as he could. It wasn’t too difficult, because the network was already open, pouring most of its energy into fighting off Zim’s virus. 

All Dib had to do was get into it without triggering any alarms or getting the attention of the Brains. He was almost there, his ears ringing with the sound of his friend’s screams, his nerves frayed. 

A few more minutes of agony, and Dib was almost there. He saw the network, on his screen, sitting behind one big, black square that was asking for a password.

“Fuck, seriously?” grunted Dib.

Next to him, GIR was still screaming, jerking the yoke this way and that. 

Shloonktapooxis was calling him through his communicator, texting him, begging him to stop what he was doing. 

Dib took a deep breath. He hadn’t brought any password cracking tools — he didn’t think that Irken technology even used passwords. It was so primitive compared to the rest of their technology.

Dib typed in “IRK.” He tried “EMPIRE,” “RED,” “PURPLE,” whatever he could think of.

He thought back to what Lard Nar had said about the Control Brains once: they had been irkens, organic life forms that chose to become completely machine rather than die. This password, their original safeguard, must be ancient, a line of defense that had long been forgotten, buried under more advanced technology. 

So, whatever this was, it was old, chosen by irkens thousands of years ago. 

Dib didn’t know anything about these irkens. He didn’t know their names, their titles, or if they’d wanted Irk to become the Empire it was today.

He could only guess that they weren’t too different from the irkens Dib knew now: Skoodge. Tenn. Tak. Gashloog. Sizz-Lorr. The Tallest.

Zim.

Wait… Zim.

Dib typed in “SNACKS.”

He was in.

With no defenses aimed at Dib, he was able to take the Brains down in a few agonizing minutes. He reached over and grabbed the yoke from GIR, holding it steady, and, suddenly, _The Mothman_ went quiet. The shouts from Tenn and Skoodge, as well as the angry cursing from Lard Nar and his men, ceased. Zim wasn't screaming, but Dib knew that he had stopped screaming a while ago.

Dib took a deep breath.

“They’re down,” he said.

Silence.

“Are… are you sure?” asked Lard Nar.

Dib took a deep breath.

“The Brains are off the network,” said Dib. “I just deleted them myself.”

“T-Tenn?” Spleenk’s voice was quiet, and it sounded like he was straining to talk. “Can you confirm?”

There was a long, deadly silence. For a few minutes, no one spoke.

“Tenn?” Dib heard himself ask.

Some scrambling, but Dib didn’t know if it was from Tenn or from Lard Nar. Then, she spoke.

“It’s over. They’re down.”

Dib breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders drop. 

“Sending word to the Resisty,” said Lard Nar, his voice even. “Ixane is on her way with a few other ships. We don’t know if we’ll be getting more company from the armada, but, in case we do, I’ll ask that she escort us back to Irk. Dib, you are still connected to the power core?”

“Yes,” breathed Dib. 

“Good,” said Lard Nar. And then, after a pause: “Good job, Dib.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re all set here,” said Lard Nar. “We’re going to the bridge now. We aren’t expecting any attacks, but we’ll stay on guard. We’ve got some weapons lying around that we can use.”

No one responded, so Dib just shifted in his seat and said: “Great.” 

“We’ll stay on this line until we reach Irk, okay, Dib?” 

“Okay,” said Dib, wondering why no one else was talking. 

He looked at his screen and saw that Tenn was still on the line, but she must have muted herself by accident, because he couldn’t hear anything from her.

He swallowed.

“How are you, Zim?” he asked.

More silence. Dib fidgeted in his seat again. 

“Um,” he said, his voice unfamiliar — wobbly and too high. “GIR actually was useful.”

“That’s great, Dib,” said a voice. Shloonktapooxis. “I’m glad to hear it. You did a really great job.”

Dib felt his heart beat in his stomach. 

“Where is Zim?” 

“You still need to focus, Dib,” said Lard Nar. 

“What’s happening?” shouted Dib, startling even himself. He didn’t care. 

“Dib, everything is going to be fine,” said Shloonktapooxis, and Dib felt his eyes well up. 

Before he could do anything about it, he was crying hard, loud sobs, his whole body shaking. He was so exhausted, so emotionally spent, but the tears kept coming.

“Dib, please don’t cry,” said Shloonktapooxis. “Look, it’s going to be okay, alright?”

“What happened?” Dib choked out. “What aren’t you telling me? What do you know?”

He heard a soft, almost inaudible “no.” 

He saw Tenn go offline. 

“Shloonktapooxis, please tell me what’s going on,” begged Dib. “Please, just tell me, I promise I’ll stay focused.” 

“Dib…”

“Please, just tell me. You have to tell me.”

Some more muttering on the other line.

“Here’s what’s happening.” It was Lard Nar again. “Tenn is making her broadcast.” 

The video screen appeared on Dib’s windshield, and he saw the bridge of the Massive, crowded by irkens who were standing still, their eyes wide as they stared forward.

The Massive was receiving a video transmission as well, this one from Tenn. She had peeled off her contact lenses. Dib watched as she removed her prosthetic antenna.

“Citizens of Irk,” she said, her voice firm, even though she looked tired, exhausted even. “This is former Invader Tenn, speaking to you from the Control Room. We have shut down the Control Brains. You are free of the Control Brains’ influence as of now.” 

There was a strange silence in the bridge. Lard Nar’s communicator panned from Tenn’s face to the crowd of navigators and technicians that were standing, slack jawed, staring at Tenn. Even the Tallest, huddled together, appeared to be in shock.

Tenn went on. “Both the Control Brain Network and the Massive are under the control of the Resisty. To the Tallest: you will be brought to Irk, where you will surrender and be taken into the custody of the Resisty. If you do not comply, you will face the consequences.”

The communicator panned back to the Tallest, who were shaking.

Tenn took a deep breath. Dib stared, hoping to see Zim appear behind her. He wasn’t there, and neither was Skoodge.

“The Irken Empire has fallen,” Tenn went on. “Irk’s colonies are being notified of their freedom as we speak. Any irken on a colony planet is no longer protected by the Empire. If you are threatened or evacuated by the natives, we ask that you do not fight, and instead return to Irk.

“All irkens are invited to return to Irk at their earliest convenience,” Tenn went on. “Any and all citizens interested in a leadership position under Irk’s new government are especially encouraged to return. From now on, leaders will be chosen based on merit, not height. Irk will hold elections exactly three weeks from today.”

A murmur of excitement passed through the crowd on the bridge. Many irkens turned back to look at the Tallest, then at Lard Nar. 

“Today begins a new era in Irk’s history,” said Tenn, and Dib saw a flash of emotion cross her face. “No longer will irkens be controlled by their PAKs. No longer will Irk exploit the resources or individuals of other planets for our gain. Today, we become more than just the machines that controlled us. Today, we begin anew. This is former Invader Tenn, signing off.” 

With that, the screen went dark. 

Dib had chills as he watched the group of irkens standing on the bridge all turn to face Lard Nar and his crew. Lard Nar turned off the video, so Dib could only hear as the Tallest surrendered and begged for mercy.

Eventually, Dib was addressed.

“Take us to Irk, Dib,” said Lard Nar.

Dib didn’t touch the yoke.

“Where is Zim,” he said, his voice flat.

A pause. Dib repeated his question, making it clear that they weren’t going anywhere until he got some answers.

“Skoodge has taken him to get medical treatment.”

“He’s alive?”

“Yes,” said Lard Nar, his voice tired. “Zim is alive. And the sooner you get us to Irk, the sooner you can see him.”

Dib bit his lip. He didn’t know how serious Zim’s injuries were. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know, at least, not now, not when they were still two days away from Irk. But, why couldn’t Dib talk to him? Was he unconscious? Or was he really dead, and Lard Nar was just lying? 

Exhausted, Dib ran a hand through his hair. He rubbed the patch on his wrist, trying to stimulate it, to make it excrete some energy into his veins.

It was all over, then, wasn’t it? 

Irk was free, as were all its colonies.

And, Zim would either come out of this alive or dead.

Gently, Dib took the yoke from GIR. He typed some coordinates into the control panel and set a course for Irk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the kids aren't eating Tide Pods anymore but I came up with the idea a long time ago and I have a really good reason for keeping it in, which is that I thought it was funny.


	21. Irk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When you press me to your heart, I’m in a world apart, a world where roses bloom… Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be _la vie en rose _.” - Louis Armstrong__

**i.**

Irk was pink. 

From where Dib was lying, he could see hundreds of shades of pink, from the pale, blushing sky above him to the dark, peach-colored dirt beneath him. He stretched out, enjoying the soft, new grass and how it tickled his bare arms. The fruit trees around him made the air smell sweet, and the wind ghosted through his hair.

Finally, they’d made it to Irk. It was nothing like Dib had imagined, all those months ago.

He lay alone on his little hill, but he didn’t mind the solitude. Things had been so hectic lately, Dib really didn’t mind the opportunity to have a quiet morning on his own.

He’d been on Irk for a few months. Upon his arrival, with the Massive in tow, he was immediately thrown into a debriefing with almost all of SpOps. Since then, he’d been busier than he’d ever been in his entire life, working tirelessly on one project or another. Today, finally, he’d been granted a day off, and he was eager to explore, to see for himself how Irk was progressing under its new leadership. 

He would do all that later. For now, he stretched out on his hill, looking down at the valley below, cataloguing every shade of pink, from the flowers to their stems to the sky to the clouds. With every turn of his head, he discovered something new, and he considered which shade might be his favorite.

As he considered this, comparing the leaves on the trees to the blades of grass, he felt himself drift off. He embraced the sluggishness in his brain, removing his glasses and crossing an arm over his eyes to block out the bright Irken sun. 

Moments later, he was asleep.

 

**ii.**

A weight on his face and body woke him up, and he stirred under… a blanket? No, not quite. He shifted, sitting up, freeing his face from whatever had just been dropped on him. He recognized the fabric as he pushed it into his lap, and then he looked up. With his glasses folded next to him, his vision was blurred, but he could still make out a figure, its arms crossed, its foot tapping. It stared down at him, and the color of its eyes took their rightful place at the top of Dib’s pink ranking.

“You left that in my room yesterday,” said Zim.

Dib rubbed his eyes and pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Sorry.”

“You should be more careful with your belongings, Dib-thing.”

Dib didn’t respond, at least, not verbally. He patted the ground next to him.

“Not in this,” said Zim with a frown, gesturing to his uniform. 

“Here, then,” said Dib, and he pulled his jacket off his lap and laid it out next to him like a blanket.

Zim shrugged and accepted the offer, careful not to let the soles of his boots touch the jacket.

“Did you have a good meeting?” asked Dib.

“I did,” said Zim.

Dib waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“And…?”

“Tenn has given me an assignment.”

Dib watched Zim for a moment, waiting for the irken to look at him. Eventually, Zim did, but only to give Dib a disapproving frown.

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own, unguarded. You weren’t even awake.”

Dib just shrugged. “I figured it was fine. There hasn’t been anything in, what, a couple of months now, right?”

Zim nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

“If someone were to sneak up on you—”

“Who’s gonna sneak up on me?” asked Dib.

“Rebels!” snapped Zim. “Former elites! Anyone!”

Dib just yawned, unbothered by Zim’s unnecessary caution. Sure, things had been dicey when Tenn was first elected to rule Irk and, yeah, Dib had had a few run-ins with some taller irkens that were upset to have lost their elite status. It was to be expected, especially given that Dib was the one to hack their systems, and a few of them were still pretty pissed at him for it. But, that didn’t mean that he was going to hide out in his room all day.

“Well, if I lie back down for a second, will you watch out for me?” he asked, leaning back on his elbows.

Zim’s expression softened, and he reached over to brush at Dib’s hair.

“Of course,” murmured Zim, and Dib rewarded him with a small smile, which Zim hesitantly returned.

Dib did as he said he would, lying back down on his back and stretching his arms above his head. He turned his head to look at Zim, who was shifting around on Dib’s jacket so that he could lie facedown, his head resting on his arms. They looked at each other, and Dib watched some of the tension leave Zim’s body. Dib rolled onto his side, so their faces were only a few inches apart.

“I checked my watch today, and guess what?” asked Dib.

“What?”

“It’s been exactly one Earth year since the day we met.” 

Zim looked at him, his expression rearranging from confusion to amusement.

“Earth years sure are long,” he said.

Dib just nodded, thinking that, yeah, Earth years _were_ pretty long. He’d known Zim for kind of a long time.

Dib watched as Zim watched him, and the warm sun on his skin tempted him to drift off again. He let out a breath and closed his eyes, unsure of whether he actually wanted to fall asleep or not. He heard Zim shift next to him, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Instead, he thought back to the past year. He fast-forwarded through the first few months, not because he didn’t appreciate them, but because he’d already spent so much of his time revisiting and analyzing those memories. He’d stopped seeing the beginning as all fake or all lies, partially because he and Zim had talked the topic to death, and partially because the cloud of jealousy and resentment had lifted a long time ago. 

He could appreciate Dirt, Sirius Minor, and Cyberflox. He smiled when he thought about gormaganders and gorignaks. But, he’d gotten tired of thinking of them.

Instead, he thought about Meekrob, and how they came back together.

He remembered being angry and feeling betrayed. He remembered hating Tenn, which would be laughable now, if it weren’t so pathetic. Now, his gratefulness for her ran bone deep.

He thought about the mission, and he still felt his stomach clench at the memory. How he’d managed to stay focused enough to fly _The Mothman_ to Irk, he’d never know. He thought about those two days, flying back with GIR, getting complete radio silence every time he reached out to ask about Zim. It had been torture.

Then, he’d gotten to Irk (nothing like it is now, it was all metal and concrete, ugly and unnatural). Out of excitement and cabin fever, GIR had fled immediately, and Dib had chased him down the street for almost ten blocks until he was able to dive forward and snatch up the little robot. He’d shuffled back to the Capital Building, where SpOps was waiting, scooting past irkens that were still confused and aimless. 

By the time he got back to where he’d parked, he was late, sweating, and huffing. He’d found the meeting room only because Shloonktapooxis had texted him the directions, confused by Dib’s tardiness. 

All of Dib’s frustrations melted away, though, the second he stepped into the conference room and saw that Zim was right there, hunched over and looking exhausted, but he leapt from his chair nonetheless and climbed into Dib’s arms and kissed him right in front of SpOps, the Meekrob, and the Tallest. Dib remembered being so happy, he thought he was delirious. He remembered GIR clinging to his arm, screaming for Zim. It had been chaotic, and it had exasperated his peers to no end. He didn’t care. He kissed Zim again, and then again, until Shloonktapooxis finally broke them apart.  


From there, everything happened so quickly. Tenn’s campaign was a whirlwind, but she beat the Tallest easily. It wasn’t surprising, really. She was a former Invader, the best of the best, in fact. Irkens recognized her leadership potential, and Dib was a little surprised to find that they were all supportive of a change to the status quo. Dib could only guess that there had been discontent among Irk’s citizens for some time. 

Tenn pardoned Zim for his crimes against the Empire, and Irk welcomed him home as a sympathetic hero, broken but resolute.

Then, the Resisty dissolved. There was no need for it anymore, but Dib was sad to see it go.

Lard Nar, Shloonktapooxis, Spleenk, and Axon went back to their home planets to start rebuilding. The Meekrob stayed on Irk for a few more weeks to provide support for Tenn, but, eventually, they left, too.

Now, Dib was the only outsider living on Irk. The only alien. 

Not that he really minded it. He was just happy to be with Zim. And, he’d gotten a newfound appreciation for the color pink.

 

Dib must have fallen back into sleep, because suddenly he was being roused again by a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder.

He blinked, and there was Zim, lying on his side, his little hand traveling from Dib’s shoulder to his waist.

“Are you done sleeping in the dirt, Dib?” asked Zim with a lopsided smile and a squeeze. “Or should I allow you to continue to make a mess of yourself?”

“Hmm,” said Dib, looking down at his jeans and _Mysterious Mysteries_ t-shirt. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to yell at me for getting my day-off clothes dirty.”

Zim sat up on one elbow, his other hand still resting on Dib’s waist. Dib reached between them and grabbed his glasses, then slid them onto his face.

“I believe I have the right to yell at you at my own discretion,” he said.

Dib just shook his head and rolled away from Zim and onto his back. Zim followed him, placing his hand on the ground next to Dib and leaning diagonally over Dib’s body, his knees still planted on Dib’s jacket.

“I’ll just ignore you,” Dib countered.

Zim frowned, but his antennae were bouncing with mirth. “So, we’ll just carry on as usual, then?”

“Yep.”

Dib lay there, looking up at Zim, glancing back over his new uniform. Zim hadn’t officially been given a title yet — not all of them had, including Dib — but he was essentially at Tenn’s right hand. So, while Dib had been given a lab coat and some black pants, Zim’s new uniform was distinctly more Irken: he wore the same gloves, boots, and pants that he’d worn every day on _The Mothman_ , and his tunic was only a slight variation on the Invader’s uniform he used to wear. This one was a darker shade of pink, with slits at the hips and a longer length in the back. The neck was high, but the collar was tight, which Dib liked. Overall, it reminded Dib more of a suit jacket with tails than a soldier’s uniform, but Dib supposed that that was probably the point. A more professional outfit, not intended to be stained with sweat or blood.

Feeling relaxed and a little bold, Dib reached up and let his hands settle on Zim’s hips. He didn’t dislike Zim’s new outfit, but Dib would be lying if he said he preferred it to his jumpsuit. He liked pink fine, really. He just liked Zim better in blue.

“Hey,” said Dib softly, “you still haven’t told me about Tenn’s assignment.”

Zim pulled away, sitting back down on Dib’s jacket. He looked down the little hill they were sitting on, staring across the valley.

“What?” asked Dib. “More boring admin stuff? Or, do you have to leave again?”

Dib didn’t mind when Tenn took Zim on field trips. It was all for diplomacy, and she needed him there. But Dib missed him when he was gone.

Zim shook his head. He got to his feet and offered a hand to Dib. 

“It would be easier if I just showed you,” he said, his voice almost casual.

Dib let himself be pulled up and rolled his eyes as Zim dusted him off.

“Is this necessary?” 

“You are an employee of the Irken government. Even in your day-off clothes.”

Dib had his hands on his hips, but he had to bite his lip to stop from smiling. Eventually, Zim grabbed Dib’s jacket from the ground and brushed the dirt off that, too. He handed it back to Dib. 

They took off, and Dib let Zim lead him from their secluded little hill toward the center of town. Dib looked around during their walk, admiring the plant life that had grown back so rapidly since Tenn announced that Irk would be regrowing its natural flora. He had to admit, it was nice, living around nature. Something he’d always taken for granted on Earth, but, in his four years in space, Dib could tell how much of a difference it made. Maybe it was more the timing than the regrowth initiative, but it seemed to Dib that Irk had calmed down a lot since Tenn had made them rip up the metal casing that they’d put around their planet.

Or, maybe Dib’s mood had just brightened in the past few weeks. Being a member of the Irken government, as Zim had said, was actually pretty rewarding, and it didn’t feel weird, working for a planet that he used to hate. Maybe because Zim, Tenn, and Skoodge were right there with him. Or, maybe because he liked helping Irk rebuild after the chaos he’d caused it.

Either way, things were getting better and better for Irk. Tenn was a strong and effective leader, respected for her history and her love for her planet. Skoodge, the first Invader to succeed in Operation Impending Doom 2, was also a good face for the new government. A genius by any definition, despite his size. And, well, it seemed like even Zim was winning his people’s trust. Maybe not as much as Tenn and Skoodge, but he sure looked good standing next to them, and Dib would say that Zim had earned some on his own. 

He was a strong will in the face of adversity. A survivor of trauma and brainwashing, just like the rest of them. A free thinker, able to make his own choices and seek to do what’s right. And Dib liked that — he liked seeing Irk come around to its most infamous former Invader, to trust him to lead them to a new form of glory. He liked seeing Zim’s people appreciate him for what Dib had always seen. 

They passed through a small, wooded area into a giant community garden. Dib had never been much of a gardener, but he’d planted a few things, just for fun. Gently, he steered Zim toward his where he’d planted some seeds.

“How come my stuff’s not growing?” he asked, crouching down, so he could be at eye level with his dirt.

“How should I know?” retorted Zim.

“Because…” Dib gestured to Zim’s plot, which sat right next to his. “… you’ve got those little stem dealies.” 

Zim bent over his own plot, a wry smile on his face as he stared at his sprouts.

“Perhaps I am the superior gardener. Not surprising.”

“Yeah, right,” said Dib, looking up at Zim with a frown. “You’re really the nurturing type.”

He resisted the urge to make a joke about Zim’s green thumbs. He’d tried it once and had been met with a blank look.

“Don’t listen to him,” Zim whispered to his plants. “He’s just jealous.”

“Am not,” grumbled Dib. “You just have an advantage. You lived here.”

“ _Right_ ,” said Zim, turning his head slightly to peer at Dib. “Back when I was in academy, we had gardening classes every day.”

“Okay, I see your point.”

“We harvested our crops each season—”

“I mean, you _do_ know the climate better.”

“You’re implying that I was ever allowed above ground.”  


Dib paused at that, then turned back to his own plants.

“Touché.” 

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Dib looked back at his plot, ignoring the pang in his stomach at the reminder that Zim had spent most of his time on Irk stuck underground. He wondered if he’d ever stop feeling bad about Zim’s shitty past. 

He glanced at Zim, curious. Zim seemed… fine. Oddly enough, Zim had adapted pretty well to not having the Control Brains constantly telling him what to do. Better than Dib had expected, by far. Although, there were still the occasional slip-ups, the moments where Dib could tell Zim was waiting for his PAK to start clicking: he would say or do something, then pause, his face twisted in an expectant wince. And then, nothing would happen. And they would just go on with their conversation, like nothing had happened. 

Zim was looking at his plants. He stuck a finger in the soil, then brought it to his relaxed antenna to sniff. Then, he popped his finger into his mouth.

“Ugh, gross,” grumbled Dib.

“I’m testing the acidity,” replied Zim, the word garbled around his finger.

“Just because you see GIR eating something doesn’t mean _you_ should eat it.”

Zim rolled his eyes, and Dib grinned.

“This is what separates the good plant-growers…” Zim gestured to Dib’s plot, “… from the mediocre.” 

“Shut up.” 

Apparently satisfied with the acidity of his soil, Zim rose to his feet and brushed some nonexistent dirt off his tunic. Without a word back to Dib, he walked off. Dib followed.

They meandered through the garden, Dib asking about various plants and Zim answering them. When they reached Skoodge’s plot, Zim reached down and plucked a rose-like flower off of a small bush. It was pink, of course, but its petals were translucent. When Dib looked at it, he saw a warped version of the ground below, almost like looking through a soap bubble, or a thick, imperfect piece of glass.

“Here,” said Zim, holding the flower out to Dib. “Have this.”

“Hey, thanks,” said Dib, taking the flower and tucking it behind his ear.

Zim looked at him for a moment, not responding, then took a fistful of Dib’s t-shirt and yanked him down to Zim’s eye level. A quick inhale, and Zim’s mouth was on his, his eyes squeezed shut.

Dib accepted the kiss, closing his eyes but not moving. Eventually, he felt Zim’s touch leave his shirt and wind into his hair, his fingers stiff but his hold gentle. Dib responded with a tentative hand on Zim’s waist. 

They were probably being overly cautious, but Dib was trying to follow Zim’s lead when it came to intimacy. It wasn’t like the Control Brains were there to punish Zim, and even Zim had admitted that his inclination toward taking things slow was based more on old fears than actual reality. 

Dib didn’t mind. He found other ways to show his affection than being physical, which was kind of a miracle in itself. 

He kept an eye on GIR when Zim was meeting with Tenn or the Meekrob. He took Zim out for meals and helped him build a new cruiser. He helped Zim test out said cruiser, and they only crash-landed a few times, so far. 

To Dib’s surprise, dating had its own rewards. He felt like a kid in high school, more now than ever. Sometimes, he wished that things could have been like this on _The Mothman_ — he wished that he had just given Zim and himself room to breathe. But, Zim had forgiven him a long time ago, and they’d both learned from the experience. After the mission, Dib learned to just be grateful that he even had Zim, that they’d found each other on Foodcourtia, and then again on Mechanicon 4, and then, again, on Irk, when there were no dangers left to face. 

Putting things into perspective helped, especially on nights when they fell asleep, side by side, still fully dressed. Or, worse, when Dib walked Zim back to his room in their dormitory and Zim looked up at him, his face dirty with unspoken apologies, then retreated back into his room and closed the door in Dib’s face.

That was happening less often, though. Lately, there’d been more of this: flustered, half-baked kisses springing up at seemingly random times.

Dib reminded himself that his philosophy for rebuilding their relationship should be like Tenn’s philosophy for rebuilding Irk: It was more important that they get it done properly than they get it done quickly.

Zim broke the kiss, which was really more of a prolonged, hard peck. He pulled back, releasing Dib’s head, and swiped a quick tongue across his lips.

“You okay?” asked Dib, reaching back to discreetly rub at a spot on the back of his neck where Zim had tugged at his hair.

Zim nodded, and he took Dib’s hand off his waist and inspected it. 

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s keep going.”

Dib nodded, unwilling to say more and spoil the fact that Zim was holding his hand as they strode out of the gardens together.

But, he couldn't help himself. "You just ate dirt and kissed me."

"Shut up. You liked it."

Eventually, they got to the center of town. Irk’s new capitol city was bustling with life, its streets dotted with irkens of every height going about their daily tasks. Dib had never been to Irk before the Resisty took it over, but Zim and Skoodge insisted that it was unsettling to see the city as it was now. Dib thought it was nice. It was like a more homogenous, pinker Meekrob.

They stopped at a café and grabbed a couple of pastries. Dib was getting used to Irken food, although it was still a little sweet for his liking. But Zim insisted on learning every ingredient used in everything Dib ate, so at least Dib knew with full confidence that none of the stuff was poisonous. 

Everyone gaped at him as he walked down the street, hand-in-hand with Zim. Dib wondered if it was because he was human, because he was tall, because he was with Zim, or because he was holding Zim’s hand. He imagined it was some combination that made every irken they passed stop in their tracks stare at him. At this point, he expected the attention, but it still kind of gave him the creeps. Zim, on the other hand, walked with his shoulders back, taking big, proud strides. 

Dib peeked down at Zim, watching as Zim took care to make eye contact with every irken he could with a toothy, slightly menacing smile on his face.

“So, what?” muttered Dib between bites of his pastry. “Am I a hot commodity or something?”

Zim’s looked up at him, perplexed.

“Your body temperature is normal for a human, last I checked.”

“When… how did you- never mind,” stuttered Dib. “I mean, why is everyone staring at me?”

Zim looked back at the crowd of irkens that were actually gathering to look at Dib. 

“You are the only human in space. I’m surprised you’re not used to this by now.”

“I mean,” Dib paused, unwilling to admit that he was actually just fishing for a compliment, “I guess so.”

Zim looked up at him, and, like he’d read Dib’s mind, said, “Perhaps they also enjoy looking at your fleshy earthanoid body. Or your unique human eyes.”

Dib looked forward.

“‘Unique,’ huh? I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, and Zim looked away, mumbling.

They wandered down the capitol’s streets, enjoying their snacks, their hands still clasped tight. They chatted about Zim’s new cruiser, about upgrades that Dib was trying to make to GIR’s navigation chip, and about Shloonktapooxis’s efforts to rebuild his planet. 

Dib was thinking about that, wondering if he could schedule a time to visit his friend, when Zim surprised him.

“I like your eyes.”

Dib looked down, a startled smile on his face.

“Thanks, Zim.”

“I just… I don’t want you to think that… It has nothing to do with you,” Zim managed.

“I know,” said Dib, and he paused so that he and Zim could look each other in the eye. “If there was anything I was doing… anything I could do better, I’d want you to tell me.”

Zim gave him a solemn nod.

“I know,” he said. “I will.”

Dib believed him. He nodded back.

 

Eventually, they made it to the outskirts of the city and stopped in front of what must be Zim’s destination. Dib didn’t even realize that they were “there” until Zim informed him. And, even then, he wasn’t really sure what he was looking at. 

“This is what you’re doing?” asked Dib, uneasy. “Building ships?”

Zim just shook his head. He tugged Dib’s hand and Dib followed, letting Zim guide him into the newly-minted spacecraft factory.

They passed through the metal detectors and the thumbprint scanners, and, eventually, they were walking down a long, narrow corridor lined with doors. Zim led him farther down before making a sharp left turn and pulling Dib through a door and onto a small balcony. 

The balcony overlooked an enormous garage. Inside sat a huge vessel — a Vortian ship, Dib realized. Dib didn’t recognize the model, but he could tell it was old. He’d previously thought that all the Vortian ships had been destroyed in Irk’s invasion of Vort. Dib said nothing, dragging his gaze over every inch of the ship, squinting and leaning forward when he needed to, his hand on the railing. The ship itself was buzzing with life, speckled with irkens making repairs to the exterior.

Dib looked back at Zim, who was grinning.

“Have you spoken with Tenn yet today?” asked Zim.

“Uh, no,” said Dib, shouting a little over the sounds coming from below. “She hasn’t called me, or anything. I’m meeting with her tomorrow.”

“I see,” said Zim. “I will tell you, then. After much negotiation and a series of pointless summits, Irk has agreed to join the intergalactic government. The news will break tomorrow at midday, and the ceremony will take place next week.”

“Wow,” said Dib. “Finally.”

Zim’s antennae flattened a bit, and he released Dib’s hand to cross his arms behind his back. 

“Well,” he said, “while we are thankful to the Resisty for helping us liberate Irk and its colonies, and we are willing to provide reparations for the planets that we invaded, we will not rebuild our world under the thumb of aliens who still see us as an enemy.”

“Right, totally,” said Dib, feeling a little bad. “I didn’t mean, like, you guys were dragging your feet or anything.”

“Obviously not.”

Dib offered Zim a tentative smile, and Zim just sighed. 

“It is a relief, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Dib. “Definitely.”

Zim smiled and looked out at the ship in front of them. Dib wasn’t sure how this fit in with the Vortian ship in front of them, so he waited, letting Zim lose himself in thought for a moment. 

He knew how sensitive these negotiations had been — he hadn’t been present for many of them, though Zim had invited him to come along to Meekrob if he wanted. Dib didn’t really like tagging along where he wasn’t needed, so he’d been sinking his teeth into ripping up Irk’s metal shell and finding new, more environmentally-friendly ways to make the planet run. 

But, Zim had been at Tenn’s side for every meeting — he’d even gone to Blorch with her to try to appease what was left of the Slaughtering Rat People. It had been difficult, proving to the newly-organized League of Allied Planets that Irk was seeking reformation. Not all of them knew Tenn as well as Lard Nar and the Meekrob did, and many of them hadn’t trusted a former Invader. But, Tenn had an endless well of patience, and, one by one, Irk’s former colonies came around. 

Zim had been there, too, and Tenn had once told Dib how surprised she was by Zim’s knack for politics. Dib acknowledged this, but he wasn’t really surprised. He was more grateful, really, to learn that he wasn’t the only one who had a hard time denying Zim what he wanted. 

“So,” said Dib after a long pause. “Irk’s joining the League. Who does Tenn want as her representative?”

“Well,” said Zim, looking up at Dib. “She’s asked me to do it.”

“… And?”

“I said no.”

“Really?” asked Dib. “I’m surprised.”

“I’m not… ready,” said Zim. “We irkens are a space-faring race. We don’t just… stay in one place. At least, I don’t want to.”

“I get that,” said Dib, thoughtful.

“Maybe one day,” said Zim, his eyes still on Dib. “But I wasted so much time on Foodcourtia. And, before that, I was stuck on Irk, or Vort, or Devastis. There is so much of the universe I haven’t seen yet.”

“Right,” said Dib. “I mean, that’s what got me out here. I’ve been traveling for four years, give or take, and I still haven’t seen anything yet. Honestly, and, you know, no offense, I’d love to see a place that’s totally undiscovered. Somewhere that doesn’t have ‘Irk’ written all over it.”

Zim nodded, then looked back out at the Vort ship. Suddenly, Dib was able to put the pieces together. Was this going to be Zim’s ship?

“I’m happy that you said that, Dib,” said Zim.

“Oh yeah? Why?” asked Dib, and he felt himself getting excited.

Zim swallowed. Dib waited.

“This ship used to belong to Lard Nar, during the early years of the Resisty. As a symbol of good will toward the League of Allied Planets, Lard Nar has donated his ship with the condition that it be used as it was initially intended: for space exploration and scientific advancement. Once the paperwork is signed and Irk is officially a member of the League, the ship will be mine to command.”

Zim peeked over a Dib, as if waiting for a response.

“Wow,” said Dib with a smile. “Captain Zim.”

“Indeed,” said Zim, but his hands clenched and he looks so excited, suddenly it’s everything Dib’s ever wanted for him. “Because of my academic experience with xenobiology and planetary… eh, research… you know…”

Dib nodded. Invader training.

“… Anyway, I have been selected to lead a crew with the intent of finding new planets to join the League. With the Empire gone, we have no doubt that other forces will attempt planetary conquest. There is a vacuum of power and economy, and the League needs more of everything: influence, money, resources. Our mission is to offer planets with weaker militaries protection from any potential threats. In return, they give us their loyalty.

“The possibilities are… endless. We could uncover new technology, new ways to cure diseases or build weapons…”

Zim looked at Dib, and Dib felt his own energy rise with Zim, who was so excited, so proud, he was bouncing on his toes.

“Not as fun as conquering, of course,” muttered Zim, almost to himself. “But, it has similar elements. And it’s for the greater good, and all that.”

“It’s like… nice conquering,” said Dib, hoping he was being helpful

“Eh,” Zim looked over at the ship. “A new mission might be good. Maybe I’ll like this better.”

Dib smiled and gave Zim a small nod. Zim nodded back. 

“Besides, who knows what we’ll find out there?” asked Zim, his face splitting into a huge grin.

Dib just looked down at him, unable to hide his own smile.

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked.

Immediately, Zim straightened.

“Right,” he said. “Of course.”

Zim cleared his throat.

“It is… no coincidence that I was chosen for this mission and also have… _experience_ with members of, er, previously unknown races. A member.” Zim cleared his throat again. “You.”

“Wait,” said Dib, “you mean you got offered the job because of… us?”

“The training that I received when I was preparing to become an Invader was extremely valuable,” said Zim. “The fact that I received this training and am not, as a result, completely xenophobic is, perhaps, even more valuable.”

“Oh,” said Dib.

“You saw how they looked at you today,” said Zim quietly. “It will take time to change Irk’s mind about outsiders. For now, the League was impressed that I willingly… interact with you, on a daily basis. Or, perhaps, they are impressed that you are willing to interact with me.”

Dib felt his face heat up, but he nodded. Zim took his hand.

“I don’t really mind it, honestly,” said Dib. “I like being on Irk.”

“I mind it,” said Zim, and Dib tightened his grip on Zim’s hand.

“If I accept this position,” continued Zim, “I will be tasked with choosing the senior members of my crew. If… if you’ll have me as your captain, I’d like you to join the crew as Chief Engineering Officer… and as my number one.”

Dib felt his head go in a thousand different directions. He stared down at Zim, his mouth open.

“I… I’m not qualified for that,” he managed.

One of Zim’s antennae quirked.

“You are,” he said. “You have more than proven your abilities.”

“Jesus, Zim,” whispered Dib. 

“Did you really think I would go off into space and not bring you with me?”

“I mean, I thought you were gonna ask me to be, like, an intern.”

Zim gave him a look. “Yeah, no.”

Dib looked back out at the ship, his whole body buzzing.

“If you accept my offer,” said Zim softly, his hand still clasping Dib’s. “You will take over command of the ship’s refurbishments as soon as Irk signs on with the League. You will be free to make whatever adjustments or improvements you like, within reason.”

Dib blinked, his chest swelling, his mind already starting to race.

With a squeeze of his hand, Zim brought him back.

“Well?” asked Zim, a tentative smile on his face. “I mean, you don’t have to say anything now, if you want to, uh, think it over—”

“Yes,” breathed Dib, looking from their new ship to Zim. “Yes. Of course.”

Zim grinned back at him. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Dib looked back at the ship.

“What’s its name?” he asked.

“Well,” said Zim. “It doesn’t really have one anymore, now that it’s out of Lard Nar’s hands. I thought you might want to name it.”

Dib nodded, too fast, and he was clutching Zim’s hand too hard, but he didn’t care.

“Can we go look at it? Now? Check out the inside?”

“Of course,” said Zim.

Dib turned to leave, but paused, once more, to look at their ship. Ideas for names, for redesigns, for holographic maps buzzed through his head. He couldn’t stop grinning.

He turned back to see Zim, one hand in Dib’s, one on the doorknob.

“Are you ready?” asked Zim.

“Yeah,” said Dib, breathless, “I’m ready.”

Zim kept looking at him, a broad smile on his face, and he let his hand fall from the doorknob as he took a step into Dib’s space.

“I love you,” said Zim.

Dib beamed. He intertwined their fingers, with some difficulty, because his hands were shaking with excitement.

“I love you, too."


	22. Epilogue: Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Though, I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before. I know I’ll often stop and think about them. In my life, I love you more. In my life, I love you more.” - The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this ridiculously long fic. Vort Dogs has been my baby since I started writing it last year, and I'm so proud/devastated to say that this is the end. This is the longest work of fiction I've ever written by far (I was a short story writer before this... lol), and it's been an amazing challenge. Anyway, not trying to get sappy here, but to everyone who's left a kudos or a supportive comment: thank you so much. It means so, so much to me. I was actually hesitant to post this last chapter because I didn't want it to be over. But, seeing it complete is a reward of its own, and now we can move on to the next adventure!
> 
> Thank you all for everything, and please enjoy this cheesy-ass epilogue. <3 
> 
> \- Andy

**i.**

“And _then_ , you know what he said to me?”

“Yeah.”

“He says, he goes, ‘bluh, _Captain…_ ’ you know how he says it like that? ‘ _Captain_ ,’ as if I don’t know… urgh…”

“Right.”

“And, right in front of the whole bridge crew, as if… arghh, if you had _seen_ …”

“I was there, remember?”

“I should write him up for it! I should have him arrested, for, for mutiny!”

“Well, that might be excessive.”

“Dib, if you had just _heard_ …”

Dib Membrane lifted his head off his pillow and shifted, so that he was propped up on an elbow. He watched his partner, his captain, who was lying on his back, spitting insults about their science officer.

“I should throw him out the airlock.”

“He survived that once already, though, remember?”

“UGH! You’re right!”

Amazingly, Zim had been snoozing peacefully just a minute or two ago. Dib, who didn’t usually wake up first, was taking advantage of the opportunity to admire his bedmate as he slept. His face had looked so serene, though his hands and antennae twitched a bit, so Dib wondered if he might be dreaming. Dib had wanted to rest a palm on Zim’s cheek, to soothe him, if it was even needed, but he was afraid of waking him up. 

To Dib’s surprise, Zim had woken up on his own, his eyes snapping open and fixing on Dib, and then, without even a “good morning,” he’d launched into a rant about something Skoodge had said on the bridge yesterday.

“I think he was just trying to be thorough. Do you think that, maybe, you take things a little too personally with Skoodge sometimes?”

Zim’s eyes, which had glazed over mid-rant, now readjusted so they were staring Dib down.

“You… my own first officer… you _dare_ defend that… that _mutineer_ —”

“Oh, my god, Zim, he’s not a mutineer, he was just doing his job.”

“How _dare you_ —”

Dib just sighed before gently rolling himself onto his ranting irken. He paused for a moment, just to enjoy the feeling of Zim's smooth, hairless chest against his own. Years ago, he'd wondered if Zim's humungoserum scars would ever fade. Not that Dib would have minded either way, probably, but he liked Zim's chest the way it was now: free of any marks, clean and fresh, a sign that anything could heal. Zim liked it, too, although he occasionally insisted that the surgery scar was still visible to anyone who didn't have inferior human eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” hissed Zim, indignant as Dib pushed him onto his back and then kissed him gently on the cheek, his face warming at the feeling of their bare bodies pressing together. 

“New negotiation tactic,” said Dib, nuzzling his cheek against Zim’s.

“Highly unprofessional.”

“Maybe so, but it gets results.”

“How would _you_ know?” sneered Zim, though his voice had softened, and his hands had found their way to Dib’s hips. “Testing it out with Skoodge, I’m sure.”

Dib giggled against Zim’s neck, and then Zim’s antenna was in his hair.

“You got me,” said Dib. “I sneak away at night so I can have sexy negotiations with Skoodge.”

Zim growled, his claws digging into Dib’s bare hips.

“Associating with the mutineer, eh?” he grumbled, sliding his hands down and gently parting Dib’s knees, settling them down on either side of Zim’s legs. Dib scooted up a bit so he was straddling Zim’s hips. “I’ll have to throw you both in the brig.”

Dib hummed. “Will you be making any conjugal visits?”

“Perhaps,” purred Zim, his head turning so that Dib could have better access to his throat, “if it pleases me.”

Dib leaned forward, planting a trail of wet kisses down the side of Zim’s neck and letting his hips grind down slowly. He felt Zim push back up against him, rubbing at him, already unsheathed, slick and stiff, and his own erection twitched between them. 

He removed Zim’s hands from his hips and pinned them to the pillow, then sat up. Zim grunted but allowed himself to be held down, an unmistakable fire in his berry-colored eyes.

“You know me,” Dib murmured, groaning a bit as he spread his legs and then finally connected their bodies. “I aim to please.”

 

**ii.**

Dib sat at their small kitchen table, sipping on a cup of coffee. He checked his watch. Maybe morning sex wasn’t the best idea — now, it was looking like they were going to be late for their shift on the bridge. Dib took another sip of the coffee, listening as the shower continued to run in the bathroom. He hummed to himself, noting that Zim’s unusually long shower was just another one of the many signs that something was stressing out his captain. 

For one thing, there was the relentless Skoodge-bashing, which only came about when Zim was worried about something and didn’t want to tell anyone. He’d kept his cool on the bridge yesterday, when Skoodge had made an innocent remark about plant samples, but Dib could tell that the second officer’s comments were grating on Zim’s unusually sensitive antennae. 

Dib had also noticed that Zim had skipped dinner the night before, and was presumably hiding in his office for most of last night. He’d also left GIR to his own devices, which was never a good idea and resulted in the tiny bot almost hijacking an escape pod (because apparently even GIR didn’t like the replicated food in the mess hall). 

The shower powered down with a squeak, reminding Dib that he needed to do some work on the transporter before they used it next. He checked his watch again, then shouted back to Zim that he needed to get moving if they were going to make it to their shift on time.

He had a few other projects that he wanted to work on today, and Zim making him take first shift on the bridge was kind of an inconvenience. But, the captain had insisted that he needed his first officer to be there, which only fueled Dib’s suspicions that something was going on.

He tapped his fingers against their little dining table, looking up to admire the vase of synthetic Earth roses that Zim had made for him.

Dib knew that he had been thinking about Earth too much lately — it was probably why Zim had stolen Skoodge away and forced his science officer to help him genetically engineer the bouquet. 

Dib had appreciated the gesture, he still did, and he sensed that Zim had been trying to ease Dib’s apparent… homesickness? It wasn’t like Dib had thought of Earth as “home” in a long time. “Home,” for a while, had been _The Mothman_ , and then, for a short time, Irk, and now the _Gormagander_ , the ship that they’d been living on for the past six Earth years. Yet, he found himself mentioning Earth more and more lately. It wasn't on purpose, and usually he didn't even realize it until he was partway through some anecdote. He knew Zim noticed. Hence, the flowers. 

Dib wasn’t sure why his feelings about Earth had suddenly changed. Before, it was easy to just not think about it. Now, he wondered what Gaz was doing, if his father was still working, if Ms. Bitters still taught the fifth grade. He ate synthesized Vort Dogs in the mess hall and found himself craving Deelishus Weenies. It was unfamiliar, but it was a longing, and Dib wondered if it had to do with the fact that the tenth anniversary of his hasty departure from his home world had just passed. 

Lost in thought and staring at the almost-real petals of flowers that smelled more like mint leaves than like roses, Dib didn’t notice Zim emerge from the bathroom and enter the kitchen until he caught a whiff of sweet-smelling antennae conditioner. 

“Hey,” he said, turning around to see that Zim was clad only in a towel, “get moving. We’re going to be late.”

“We have time,” said Zim, his voice a little uneven as he sat next to Dib and took a sip of his coffee. “Ugh. This tastes disgusting.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to taste.”

“Eh. Too bitter.”

Lately, Zim had been trying his hand at making coffee “like the humans do.” Yesterday, it had been a single bean dropped in boiling water. The day before, he’d put grounds and sugar into lukewarm water and whipped the mixture up in the blender. 

“I’m about to leave without you,” warned Dib.

“Okay, okay,” said Zim. “Stop worrying. I told Skoodge that we would be a little late today.”

“What?” asked Dib. “Why?”

Zim leaned back and cleared his throat, his fingers drumming on the kitchen table.

“As captain of this vessel,” he said, “I formally request your presence in my office for a very important meeting in, uh, ten minutes?” 

Dib eyed his captain, clad only in a towel and still dripping a little from his post-coital shower. 

“Uh, okay” said Dib, rising from his seat. “But I’m going to go get breakfast first and then meet you there. Do you want anything?”

“The usual,” said Zim, watching as Dib made his way for the door. “Thank you, husband.”

“No problem.”

So, something was clearly going on. At least Dib would know what it was in five minutes’ time. He pondered what the issue might be, his mind bouncing to a million places at once. Was a crewmember being reassigned, or quitting? Had something happened with the League? Was there a war coming, or a secession? Were they in trouble? Had they done something to break protocol? 

That couldn’t be it. The months of leadership training that Tenn had forced Zim to endure before they left for their mission had paid off — Zim was a good captain, and he took good care of his ship and his crew. They filled out their paperwork on time and with few or no errors, their reports were always thorough, and they got good results almost every time they met with an unaffiliated planet. So, there was no way they could’ve broken some rule—

Dib paused, Zim’s last word ringing in his head. _Husband._ Could that be it? No, he reasoned, the League had known about their relationship for a long time, long before their mission had officially started. They’d disclosed all the necessary information. In fact, Zim’s relationship with Dib had been part of the reason why Zim had been chosen to lead this particular mission. So, it couldn’t be that. Unless…

Should they not have gotten married? Was _that_ against protocol, for a first officer and a captain to be husbands? 

Honestly, though, Dib didn’t even think that their marriage was legally binding. Not the way they did it. And, Dib went on to himself, working his way through the logic as he stepped into the mess hall, the League must have learned about the wedding a long time ago. It had been over two months already, and it wasn’t like they were keeping it a secret.

Dib felt himself smile, unable to keep a straight face as he remembered back to the night that Zim had proposed to him. He’d actually made Dib dinner, using their tiny kitchenette to stumble through a recipe for something that kind of resembled Earth spaghetti. They’d been eating, enjoying their meal while GIR acted as their sommelier — that is, GIR made sure their wine glasses were never less than half full, as per Zim’s instructions. 

By the time they’d finished eating, Zim had spilled wine on himself and then again GIR, and his hands were shaking. Dib hadn’t known what to think, and was only more taken aback when his partner shoved a ring in his face and screamed, “Is this what you want?!”

Despite the surprising and unorthodox proposal, Dib had accepted. They were married a week later, in front of the entire crew, and Dib remembered shuffling down the aisle, holding those minty-smelling roses, while GIR frolicked in front of him, tossing bagel bites at confused guests. He made it to the end of the aisle, where Zim was waiting for him. Skoodge stood by Zim’s side and cried, unable to stop himself from gushing at how beautiful Earth weddings were. Shloonktapooxis stood by Dib and grinned the entire time. Tenn married them and, honestly, it was one of the best days of Dib’s life.

Zim had given the entire crew the day off, and he’d taken Dib back to their quarters along with Tenn, Shloonktapooxis, Lard Nar, and Skoodge. They got drunk on Vortian bubbles and stayed up all night. The next day, Dib woke up on his couch with his brand new husband passed out on top of him. Skoodge, Tenn, and Lard Nar were asleep in his bed, and Shloonktapooxis was floating upside-down in the bathtub, snoring like an Earth bear. 

Dib walked out of the mess hall, a bag of breakfast food in hand, and made his way to his husband’s office. He tried to convince himself that getting “Earth-married,” as Tenn called it, couldn’t be a violation of anything. Irkens didn’t even have marriage ceremonies — many cultures didn’t. Dib didn’t think the League would care if he and Zim got Earth-married. 

It hadn’t been religious, and they hadn’t filled out any kind of official paperwork. Really, it was more like they’d just stood up in front of their friends and said sappy things to each other. It had just been for them: a fun way to celebrate their bond. It wasn’t like they were declaring it on their taxes. 

He looked down at the ring on his left hand, made from a soft, heavy stone mined on Meekrob. He admired its warm, dark grey color and the small, silver veins that ran through it. One of a kind, truly. It was heavy and perfect on his finger, and he liked it almost as much as the ring that Zim wore, cut from the same stone.

He knocked on Zim’s office door and head a familiar, tinny voice crying, “Come in!”

He pushed through the door and found Zim, seated at his desk, his hands tented in front of him. GIR sat on Zim’s desk, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Hi, Dib!”

“Hi, GIR!” said Dib, reaching into the paper bag. “Gotcha something.”

He tossed a pastry at the SIR, and GIR dove for it, landing with a crash on the floor. 

“Got you something, too,” said Dib, producing a breakfast smoothie and placing it on Zim’s desk.

Zim looked up at him, nodded, and then gestured to the seat across from him.

“So, what’s this about?” asked Dib, taking his seat.

Zim took a breath and fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform. It was a deep purple, a color that symbolized peace and unity on Meekrob, and it was the color that almost everyone on the crew wore, including Dib. Dib liked the purple on Zim, and he liked the three gold stripes at the cuffs of his sleeves that indicated Zim’s rank as captain.

Right now, though, Zim looked less like a captain and more like a child that had just been caught running with scissors.

“Zim?” Dib asked, his voice quiet. “What’s this about? I know you’ve been stressed out, look, whatever’s going on… just tell me. It’s gonna be fine. Is this about your trip to see Tenn?”

That made Zim grimace, and he looked down at where GIR was sucking pastry crumbs off the floor.

“Well… yes. And, again, Dib, I’m sorry it was such a long trip—”

“Like I said, it’s fine,” said Dib, but only because he was sick of hearing Zim apologize for this. 

Yes, it had been kind of frustrating to get married and then have his husband leave almost immediately to go help Tenn with League negotiations because Irk’s representative, a former table-headed service drone named Bob, was actually really ineffective. And, yes, Zim’s leave of almost five weeks had been draining for Dib, Skoodge, and the rest of the crew, but there was nothing that Dib could do about that, and he wasn’t about to take his irritation out on Zim for that. 

Zim came back a few weeks ago, and they were doing fine. Although, Dib would appreciate a honeymoon at some point. The last time they'd really gotten solid alone time together had been before this trip, when they were still living on Irk. The few months they'd spent preparing, with Zim at his leadership training and Dib overseeing  _The Gormagander_ 's maintenance, had been hectic and stressful, but Dib wouldn't trade it for the world. On late nights, when he was stuck fixing the power core or fiddling with some other tedious task, he would remember how proud he'd been to walk Zim through every room of this ship, talking him through the adjustments he'd made and the work he'd done. And, Zim had been so proud of him, too. And it wouldn't have been wise to try to make love in  _every_ room of the whale-sized ship, so they'd settled for chasing each other to the bridge and taking turns riding each other in the captain's chair.

“Right,” said Zim. “Of course.”

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Dib. “Was there an issue with my paperwork? I know we had to make a couple of stops for the ship, but I was on the bridge the whole time and I couldn’t keep track of engineering—”

“It’s not that,” said Zim, finally looking up at Dib. “You did very well — you kept the crew happy, your missions were all successful, and the ship needed some refurbishments anyway. You did nothing wrong.”

“Oh… okay,” said Dib. “So, what, then?”

“Commander,” said Zim, and Dib bit his lip at the formality, “I have asked you here today to discuss the next mission.”

“Oh,” said Dib. “Okay. What’s the next mission?”

Zim looked hard at Dib, even though it was clear that he didn’t want to. 

“Earth.”

Dib froze. 

“We make contact next week. I wanted to let you know before I told anyone else.”

At the phrase _let you know_ , Dib felt himself snap back to life.

“Excuse me?” he snapped. “Earth? _My_ Earth?”

“Commander—”

Dib growled, his hands balling into fists.

“Is this why we’re in your office, _Captain_? So I can’t properly yell at you? Real mature, Zim—”

“Enough,” said Zim. “This is not a personal matter. We received direct orders from the League to—”

“Bullshit, we got orders from them. That’s what you were doing with Tenn, then? That’s why you left? Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t _lie_ , I just… this was the best course of action, trust me.”

Dib sat back, folding his arms across his chest.

“Explain to me how this was the best course of action.”

“Dib,” said Zim, his face softening, “you know as well as I do how vulnerable the Earth is. There are hundreds of threats closing in on it as we speak. Earth isn’t as isolated as it used to be, and with the Irken Empire gone, there are other powers that may seek to take it. There are pirates who could strip it of its resources. There are untold threats on your home planet.”

“Why now?” asked Dib. “Why our crew?” 

“Dib,” said Zim. “I’m sorry for keeping this from you. But, as you know, our mission will be over soon. We are close to Earth now, closer than any other League ship, and I have finally gotten permission from the council to make contact. This has been a long time coming.”

“We’re not supposed to make contact,” said Dib. “They make contact with us. This is against the rules.”

“Well, technically, it’s not,” said Zim. “For one thing, you’re here, aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t count,” said Dib. 

“Okay, well, it does—”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Dib. “I’m the only one from that cruddy planet that even believed in aliens, and I haven't lived there in years. We can’t make contact.”

Zim sighed. His PAK whirred, and then his tablet appeared. He tapped on it a few times, then handed it to Dib.

Dib took the tablet, cast one more look at his husband, and then looked down.

“Press play,” said Zim quietly.

Dib did, and the screen went dark as a video loaded. Eventually, an image appeared: grainy and imperfect, but it cleared some, and Dib felt his jaw drop.

The image wasn’t great, but Dib would recognize it anywhere: the lab coat, the goggles. The giant, uncontrollable cowlick.

“Hello, aliens,” said Professor Membrane. “I am Professor Membrane, of the planet Earth, located in the Milky Way Galaxy. This is my… fifteenth attempt at contacting extraterrestrial life forms. I am reaching you with a matter of great importance. Many years ago, I lost my son…”

Dib watched the video, his whole face heating up as his father begged any aliens who might be listening to give him any information they had on Dib. The video cut abruptly, but it had been enough, and Dib felt his heart beat double time in his chest.

He didn’t say anything for a while, but he felt Zim’s eyes on him.

Eventually, he took a shaky breath.

“Where did you get this?” he whispered.

“You remember the Florpuns?” asked Zim, citing a species that the _Gormagander_ ’s crew made contact with earlier this year.

“Yes,” said Dib. 

“They sent this video to me before I left to see Tenn. They received it a while ago, but, when we made contact with them, they recognized you as human and thought you might know him. They’ve gotten three messages from him in the past five Earth years.”

Dib’s hands were shaking.

“Five years? My dad’s been contacting aliens for… five years?”

“Yes.”

“Looking for me?”

“Yes.”

Dib clenched his jaw.

“And you got this video… weeks ago,” he looked up at Zim, his expression hard.

“Please let me explain.”

“Do it fast.”

Zim sighed. “Dib, I know your relationship with your home planet is complicated. I know that you were unhappy there. But, here is the information that I am presenting you with now: Your planet is in danger. Your father is trying to find you. The _Gormagander_ has finally been approved to make contact with Earth and invite them to join the League of Allied Planets. I will beam down to Earth to begin negotiations.”

Zim cleared his throat.

“I ask that you join me. If you refuse, I will take Skoodge, and you will stay on the ship as acting captain.”

Dib didn’t say anything — his whole brain felt blank, occupied only by the echo of his father’s pleas.

“I didn’t want to show you this before we had received permission to go to Earth. I’m sorry, Dib, I thought this was—”

“It’s okay,” said Dib, his voice soft. He looked at Zim. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I just… I don’t know.”

“There is no shame in not wanting to return to your planet,” said Zim. “I know how it feels to have… complicated feelings about the place you come from. But, Earth is still a part of your life. If you ever chose to return, but were unable to… I don’t want that for you. I want you to be able to see your home planet when you want. Maybe it won’t be soon, but you… you have so much time, Dib. You have so much time to change your mind about going back, and I want the Earth to be there for you if you do.”

Dib shifted in his seat. He knew what Zim meant. Maybe he wouldn’t go back to Earth for years. Even though he’d refused when Zim had offered to build him his own PAK, he’d been in space long enough to know that he could easily match Zim’s almost endless lifespan. The Meekrob had found ways to halt his aging, and Zim had made hundreds of healing tools to keep Dib healthy. So, maybe he won’t want to see Earth now. But, a hundred years from now? Two hundred? Who knows?

“I know you miss Earth,” said Zim quietly, and Dib felt his stomach drop.

“It’s just… it’s really complicated,” Dib whispered.

“I am not asking you to come with me if you don’t want to. But, you are my husband, and I will not let your planet die.”

Dib smiled. Years ago, Dib had been Earth’s protector. He’d saved people from werewolves and ghosts and witches. Now, it seemed that his husband, a former Invader, no less, was ensuring Earth’s safety, for real. For Dib.

“Okay,” whispered Dib. “We’ll go to Earth. I’m coming with you.”

Zim nodded.

“Okay.”

“I don’t… I don’t know if…” Dib trailed off, unable to even say it.

“We do not have to see your family,” said Zim. “Although, I admit, I am curious to meet them, it is not necessary to the mission.”

“Right,” said Dib.

He couldn’t really picture it: sitting around his childhood living room, having coffee with his dad, Gaz, and Zim. It was kind of unfathomable. 

Zim nodded, and he gestured to the door. Right. First shift. Dib stood, and he, Zim, and GIR left for the bridge.

 

**iii.**

The next few days passed in a blur. There were the standard protocols for missions. First, Skoodge would do a presentation on the planet in question: what the League knew about it, who its leader was, what kinds of social norms the planet had. That was kind of weird, and Dib’s ears felt hot as Skoodge gave the science and command officers a rundown on his own planet’s bloody, somewhat embarrassing history. 

They discussed ecology, economics, and war. Dib bit his lip as his father was mentioned as the first planet-side human to make contact with the League through the Florpuns, and he blushed when one of the ensigns asked if Dib had “run away from home.” 

Then, Dib found himself in Zim’s office, where his husband was testing out his new disguise. According to Skoodge, the humans were still generally ignorant of alien life, and the presence of an irken, who looked _very_ alien to their sensibilities, could cause widespread panic. So, here they were, trying on human clothes and debating how to best disguise GIR. 

“What do you think?” asked Zim, spreading his arms wide.

Dib winced. “I hate it.”

Zim rolled his eyes, his new lenses making the gesture actually look legitimate. The lenses were designed to have black pupils, white sclerae, and odd, lavender-colored irises, and they looked... almost human.

“I’m being serious, Commander,” snapped Zim. “I’m not asking if you think it _looks_ good, it just needs to look human.”

Zim didn’t look human. His wig, fake and black with a ridiculously stiff-looking quiff, didn’t look genuine at all. Dib found himself missing the shiny, soft antennae that lay underneath.

“Why don’t you just do a holographic disguise?” asked Dib, looking more at Skoodge than at Zim. “That way he’ll at least have ears, and, you know, a nose. And he won’t be green.”

Skoodge shrugged and looked at Zim.

“I actually think this is fine,” he said. “Just tell them it’s a skin condition.”

“A skin condition?” asked Dib, bewildered. “Is not having ears part of the skin condition?”

Zim and Skoodge glanced at each other. Zim shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” 

“Oh, my god.” Dib put a hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “And, by the way, you’re not wearing that outfit.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because, Zim, Christmas sweaters are usually reserved for Christmastime, and no human over the age of seven wears light-up sneakers.”

Zim looked down, dejected. 

“I liked the tinsel. And the flashy shoes.”

“Just…” Dib threw a pleading look at Skoodge. “Just wear normal clothes. Like what I used to wear.”

Skoodge shook his head.

“According to my research, this is what the humans wear—”

“Okay, so, I’m _from there_ , so I think I would know—”

“Well,” said Skoodge, “you haven’t been back in—”

“I know how long it’s been!” snapped Dib. “I know! You don’t have to tell me!”

A beat of silence, and then Dib was dismissed while Zim and Skoodge finished up with the disguises. Dib trudged back to his quarters, his tail between his legs.

He didn’t want to think about how he’d just yelled at Skoodge. Honestly, he didn’t want to think about anything at all. But, the mission was tomorrow. There was no avoiding it. A part of him wanted to just opt out, to let Skoodge go and pretend none of this was happening. 

For a number of reasons, Dib knew that he would be beaming down to Earth with Zim tomorrow. 

Dib sighed. He entered his quarters and beelined it for his bed, where he flopped down gracelessly and without even bothering to remove his boots. He closed his eyes, hoping that he could just take a nap or something while he waited for Zim to get back.

 

He was lying on his back and fiddling with his watch when Zim returned. 

“What do you think?”

Dib leaned up on his elbows and actually smiled at the sight before him. Zim had changed into basic black pants and boots. He had also replaced the Christmas sweater with an old college sweatshirt that Dib had lent him years ago.

“Well, you know how much I like that sweatshirt on you,” he said. 

“Yes, I know.” Zim smiled back, then made his way to the bed and sat down. 

Dib sat up, surprised when his husband grabbed him by the cheek and pulled him into a kiss.

Dib pulled back, surprised.

“What was that for? I thought I’d be in trouble.”

Zim leaned his forehead against Dib’s and took a deep breath.

“I know this is stressful for you. I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

Dib swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I just… I’m gonna go. I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“I understand,” said Zim. “It will be a quick mission. If, at any time, you wish to leave, we will have you beamed back up to the ship, and Skoodge will take over in your place. Okay?”

“Okay,” breathed Dib. “And, really, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have snapped.”

“You are forgiven,” said Zim. “Although, I believe it may be prudent to apologize to Skoodge, as well.”

“Will do.”

Dib felt Zim’s hand on his, their fingers lacing together. He closed his eyes.

“You know,” said Dib, “even if this completely sucks, I’m glad that I’m at least doing it with you.”

Zim smiled and planted one more kiss on Dib's cheek before sweetly reminding him that it was his turn to take out the trash.

 

**iv.**

Earth was… well, it was Earth. In ten years, things hadn’t changed much. There were more electric cars on the road. There were advertisements for sequels to movie franchises that Dib didn’t recognize. Other than that, it was pretty much the same, and not that remarkable, at least, not to Dib.

Zim, on the other hand, had never seen Earth, and was taken aback.

“Your whole planet… molts?” he asked, bending over to inspect another fallen leaf.

“Not the whole planet. And not at the same time,” said Dib.

“And your ships! They’re… on land? Why don’t they fly?”

“Humans don’t know how to make ships like that yet. At least, not affordable ones. These are called cars.”

“‘Cars,’ you say?” asked Zim, staring at a particularly beat-up looking Volkswagen as it drove by them. “Fascinating.”

“I guess so.”

Dib had learned a lot about Zim over the past six Earth years. On missions, Dib had seen just how resourceful Zim could be, and how capable he was of thinking on his feet. He was brave, a force to be reckoned with, and a commendable leader. 

Today, Dib was happy to have his captain on this mission with him. More than that, though, he was happy to have his husband, the person that Dib had known since their days living on _The Mothman_. Strangely enough, it made Dib feel more at ease to have an alien next to him as they walked into his home town, Dib in jeans and his trench coat, and Zim dragging a leashed GIR along behind them.

“Dogs aren’t green,” said Dib quietly, looking back at GIR in his pitiful doggie suit.

Zim just sniffed.

“Nonsense.”

Dib shook his head. His breath hitched when he felt Zim’s hand slip into his own.

“Unprofessional, Captain,” he chided.

In an instant, Zim removed his hand. Dib took it back. Zim pulled away again.

“I was just kidding, Zim, you can hold my hand.”

“No. I don’t want to anymore.” 

“Oh, my god.”

They made their way through town, and Dib felt his faith in their plan start to wane. It seemed like Skoodge’s research had been more accurate than Dib had thought it would be — for one, everyone was wearing light-up sneakers, a fact that outraged Zim. For another, it seemed that the leader formerly known as President Man had actually succeeded in his plans for world domination, and, in the past ten years, he’d taken control of pretty much the entire planet. 

He still had an office in town, which was kind of weird, but at least Dib and Zim knew where to find him. But, they had no idea how to access him. After a few unsuccessful tries, they were eventually thrown off the premises and almost arrested.

On normal missions, connecting with the planet’s leadership was the easy part. But, this wasn’t a normal mission, and they hadn’t communicated with Emperor Man prior to sending the landing party, so, really… they were out of luck.

“We just need to regroup,” said Zim. “Let me contact Skoodge… we’ll see what he thinks about this.”

“Zim, stop,” said Dib. 

He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but, really, did they have a choice? For the good of the mission, Dib knew that there was one obvious solution to their issue. And, it came in the form of a man who used to have weekly poker nights with Emperor Man back when Dib was in elementary school.

Zim looked up. “What?”

“I know how we can get to him,” said Dib.

“Okay, how?”

Dib took a deep breath. “We can ask my dad for help.”

Zim stared at him for a second, like he was still processing what Dib had said.

“Your… no, Dib. I said we wouldn’t have to.”

“I know. But, it looks like the best option at this point.”

“Well, okay,” said Zim, more to himself than to Dib. “I can give Skoodge a call and have him beam you up and himself down, and then—”

“No,” said Dib. “I’ll go with you.”

Zim paused, his eyes wide. At this proximity, Dib could kind of see the berry color behind the white lenses. Or, maybe it was just a trick of the light. Either way, they stared at each other, and Dib grew more and more sure of his decision.

“It’s settled, then,” he said. “We’re going to go find my dad.”

Zim just nodded. He still looked nervous, and Dib couldn’t blame him. A few hours ago, Dib was having second thoughts about even going to Earth. And now he was going to go find Professor Membrane. And ask for his help. Dib swallowed.

“We should probably grab GIR before we go,” he said softly.

“Right,” said Zim, snapping out of his stupor. He reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and grabbed his communicator, then held it up to his face. “GIR! Get out here!”

“ _Okaaaaaay_!!!”

In a few moments, GIR came flying out of a window in Emperor Man’s office (literally flying with his little rocket legs). He crashed into Zim’s abdomen and sent them both tumbling to the ground.

“Alright,” said Dib, trying to keep his expression serious. “Let’s get going.”

 

First, they went to the zoo.

Dib wasn’t sure why he’d suggested it, but they were walking past it, and Zim asked what it was, and… there they were. Leaning against a railing, staring into an enclosure, waiting to catch a glimpse of the North American moose.

“It says here that a moose’s antlers can span up to six feet. Isn’t that how tall you are?” asked Zim, his eyes glued to the plaque he was reading.

“Yup.”

“Wow. Impressive,” said Zim.

“I guess so, yeah.”

They saw the moose. Dib thought it was fine, as far as moose are concerned. Zim was enraptured.

“I want one,” he said.

“You can’t have one,” said Dib.

“I think it would be useful.”

“It’s too big to take back to the ship, though.”

“Hmm. Perhaps I can construct a miniature version,” said Zim, thoughtful. 

They wandered through the zoo, discussing the logistics of engineering a small, moose-like robot. Dib got the feeling that Zim was just humoring him with this zoo visit — he kept saying it would be useful for their records, but he knew that old plaques full of information easily accessed through the internet wasn’t the point of this outing. He knew that Zim was giving him time to gather himself before they sought out his father. He appreciated that, but, at the same time, he knew that they were just delaying the inevitable.

They wandered through the zoo for hours. Dib ate a hot dog, and then had some ice cream. They passed through insect and lizard exhibits, and every time they passed anything green, Dib would point to it, look at Zim, and say, “that’s you.” 

It was when they were standing in front of the elephants that Dib’s past caught up to him in the form of a familiar head of purple hair.

“Dib? Dib Membrane?”

“… Gretchen?”

“Oh, my gosh, it’s really you!” exclaimed his old classmate. “How have you been? Where… have you been?”

Dib had a harder time keeping track these days, but, if he remembered correctly, he was in his early 30s, and, therefore so was Gretchen. She looked great — she stood straighter, Dib noticed, and she looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen her in high school. He glanced down and noticed that she was pushing a stroller.

“Is this… you have a baby?” he asked, crouching down. 

Inside the stroller was a sleeping toddler, maybe about a year old. Dib smiled.

“Very cute,” he said, looking up at Gretchen. He felt his grin falter at the intense look on Gretchen’s face.

“Where did you go?” she asked, her voice soft. “We… everyone was looking for you. No one knew where you went.”

“I, uh… everyone?” asked Dib, and he felt his face get red.

“Your dad turned the whole country upside down, looking for you. Where were you?”

“Um, look, I just…” Dib heard himself stammer, but he wasn’t sure what to say.

What could he say? _I’ve been in space. I fought a war against a galactic Empire. Now, I’m the chief engineer and first officer of a spaceship. This is Zim, my alien captain and lover._

Didn’t really seem like the kind of thing you told an old classmate during a surprise run-in at the zoo.

In that moment, though, Dib was saved by an excited GIR, who had just finished eating a bag of peanuts and threw himself onto the ground by Dib with a squeak. 

“Sorry!” said Zim, scooping GIR up and away from Gretchen’s baby. “My dog! He gets excited.”

Gretchen, surprised, pulled her stroller away from their poorly-disguised robot. She looked from Dib to Zim, then back at Dib.

Dib looked up at her, his face still hot. He rose to his feet.

“Uh, Gretchen. This is Zim, my, um… my—”

“I’m his groom,” said Zim, dropping GIR onto the ground and extending his left hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, um…” Gretchen took Zim’s hand and gingerly shook it, her eyes still bouncing from Dib to Zim. “Nice to meet you, Zim.”

Dib brushed at some invisible dirt on his jeans. He looked over at Zim.

“We’re actually here to see my dad,” Dib murmured. “Um, you know… so everyone can, ah, meet each other.”

Seemed like a good enough cover. Zim beamed. 

“Oh, yes!” he chirped. “Very excited to meet the famous Professor Membrane, you know, couldn’t have him at the wedding, because… oh, um… well, because we couldn’t! So, yes. Very excited. To meet him. Yup.”

Dib wanted to roll his eyes, but he felt a hand on his forearm.

“Hey.” It was Gretchen, her eyes filled with worry. “Look, whatever went down with your family, I… I know it’s not my business, but, I think it’s good that you came back. We all missed you, you know, at the hi skool reunions and stuff.”

Dib doubted that. But he appreciated the gesture and the kindness behind the words. 

“Thanks, Gretchen. I guess, um, we had better get going. It was nice to see you again. Maybe… I’ll come back soon, and we can catch up?” 

“That would be great,” said Gretchen with a smile. “I’ve got to get going, too, unfortunately. It was really nice to see you again, Dib. I hope things work out with your dad. Nice to meet you, Zim.” Her eyes darted down to GIR. “Also, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think your dog might be sick.”

“Right, thanks,” said Zim, but he was still looking at Dib. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Okay, well, come on then, Dib Junior,” giggled Gretchen. 

With that, she took her stroller and headed back toward the monkeys. Dib laughed along with her, and he felt a burst of fondness in his chest as he watched her leave.

“She… named her infant after you?” asked Zim after the moment passed.

“What? No,” said Dib. “She was just joking. You know, because of prom.”

Zim’s face flushed, and he snapped his head back in Gretchen’s direction.

“You mean to tell me… _that_ was the dirt child from prom?”

Dib nodded and bent over to pick up GIR, who had fallen asleep in the dirt.

“Hmm.” Zim kept staring, his face flushed. 

“Oh, come on,” said Dib, reaching back to grab his husband’s hand. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Zim gave him a dangerous look, and suddenly Dib was being dragged away. “The only thing that woman has that I want are her light-up shoes.”

They had GIR stand watch outside while they made out in the public restroom near the tigers, and then, after being caught by an unsuspecting janitor, they went on a forty-minute search for their missing robot. Once they’d found him, waiting in line for more peanuts, they gathered themselves and finally left the zoo. 

With Zim’s hand in his, Dib led the way to his father’s house. 

 

**v.**

The Membrane household looked the same as it had ten years ago. The lawn was neatly maintained, the house had a fresh coat of paint, and the hover car in the driveway looked like it had been washed and waxed recently. Despite this, Dib knew that there was a good chance that the actual head of the household, Professor Membrane, hadn’t been home in months. 

But, then, he was knocking on the front door, and it was swinging open, and his father was throwing his arms around Dib’s shoulders and weeping. 

Dib wasn’t sure how to react. He gently reciprocated the hug, and then Membrane was hugging him even tighter. Dib felt the air leave his lungs.

Finally, his father pulled back. With some room between them, Dib was able to assess his father’s appearance: the greying hair, the fogged-up goggles, the wrinkles on his face. The past ten years had aged Membrane more rapidly than Dib had expected, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was, in some way, his fault.

“Dad,” he whispered. “I…”

His father stood in front of him, his hands still on Dib’s shoulders, his breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. 

“Son, please,” he gasped. “Please, come inside.”

Dib let himself be dragged into the house, and he could only hope that Zim was following behind them. 

His father led them to the couch and sat Dib down. He hit Dib with a barrage of half-formed questions, ones that Dib suddenly felt completely unprepared for. 

He put his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, Dad, slow down, okay. Please?”

“Right, right,” said Membrane, yanking his goggles off and wiping at his forehead. “Of course, I just… I can’t believe you’re here. My son… I had heard a rumor, earlier today, but I just… I couldn’t believe that it was really you, here.” Membrane smiled. “Back home.”

“Y-yeah,” whispered Dib. “I’m home.”

And, looking around, Dib felt a small wave of satisfaction hit him. Finally, he’d come back to Earth. And it was all here, just like he’d left it.

“Son,” said Membrane. “I have been searching for you since the day you disappeared.”

Dib frowned. Maybe not _exactly_ like how he'd left it. Something different and dark wormed its way into his brain. Guilt.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said.

“Please, no,” whispered Membrane. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Dib bit his lip. The sudden guilt he was feeling, combined with the time he’d spent away from his home planet, had softened the anger he’d felt toward his father. But, it was still there. It still buzzed inside of him, subtle and often forgotten.

“Dib,” said Membrane, “I know I was the reason you left. I know that I made a lot of mistakes as your father. I’m so, so sorry. I should never have sent you to that insane asylum. I should never have… belittled your interests. I didn’t ever want this. I didn’t want to lose you. I love you so much, Dib.”

Dib took in a shaky breath. He felt trapped, all of a sudden — stuck in a situation that he didn’t know how to get out of. With a jolt, he turned around to see Zim, still standing in the doorway, fidgeting with his clothes. 

They locked eyes, and Dib stood up and walked around the couch. He held his hand out to Zim, who gratefully took it. 

At that moment, Dib wished he could have a private conversation, just with Zim. He wanted to ask Zim if he should forgive his father, if that would be the right thing to do. If it was even fair, for them to be here, for Membrane to be asking for Dib’s forgiveness. 

Zim gazed up at him, his fake lenses fixed on him. Dib realized that he didn’t even need a conversation. He knew what Zim would say. Something about forgiving for himself, not for his father. The importance of moving on and letting go of the things that hurt him. He would urge Dib to take control of the situation, to be proactive and to take care of himself.

Dib knew that he could do it. He’d seen Zim do it. And Zim had once been so hard-headed, so thirsty for revenge, but he’d done it. He’d forgiven his Tallest, and they hadn’t even apologized. They hadn’t even cared enough to ask for Zim’s forgiveness, but Zim had done it anyway, for himself, because he didn’t want to be angry about the past any more. He wanted to move forward, and he would urge Dib to do the same.

It felt like a lifetime ago, but hadn't Dib and Zim done the same thing? Hadn't they forgiven each other, moved forward, and made this life for themselves? A life that Dib wouldn't trade for anything?

After what felt like a century of staring into fake, lavender lenses, Dib turned and looked at his father, whose eyes were darting between Zim and Dib. 

“Dad,” said Dib, his voice a little shaky, “this is Zim.”

His father rose and approached them, and he just kind of nodded, a look of understanding crossing his features. He clapped a hand on Zim’s shoulder.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Zim.”

“I’m sure,” said Zim, his eyes darting to the hand on his shoulder. Dib felt the hand on his squeeze tighter. “If you are… quite finished with your, ah, reunion… Dib and I are actually here on official business.”

They explained the nature of their mission, and Dib watched his father absorb all of the information with a confused expression. Dib felt his stomach twist with anxiety. When he and Zim were finished with their description of the League, of the fallen Irken Empire, of space pirates and planet jackers, there was a heavy silence.

Professor Membrane looked at Dib. “Aliens?”

“Yeah, Dad,” said Dib, his voice shaking. “Aliens.”

“Well,” said Membrane. “I can’t… I can’t say that this is easy information to digest. But, after you left, I’ll confess, I did… entertain the idea.”

“I know,” said Dib. “Actually, a planet that we visited a few months ago got three of your transmissions.”

If Dib had ever seen his father look embarrassed, this was it. 

“You watched them?”

“One of them.”

“I see.” Membrane shifted in his seat. “Well, then, I suppose you know how desperate I was.”

“It worked,” said Zim. “If that’s any consolation.”

“Did it?”

“The planet in question sent your transmissions to me, with the knowledge that you were of the same species as my first officer,” explained Zim. “Because you were able to make contact with a League-allied planet, we were within our rights to return the contact and send a landing party to Earth.”

“I see,” said Membrane, and now he was looking at Zim with a curious expression. “So, you’re… you’re really an alien.”

“Yes.”

“And… you married my son?” said Membrane, looking down at the wedding ring on Dib’s hand, still clasped tight in Zim's. 

“Yes, I did,” said Zim. “Your son and I have been in a relationship for many years.”

“I see,” repeated Membrane, and he looked over at his son. “All this time, I didn’t know if it was girls or boys that you liked, or what. Can’t say I’m surprised to learn it’s aliens.”

Dib felt his face get hot. Next to him, Zim laughed.

“Anyway,” said Membrane, his face breaking into a small smile, “you’re asking me if I can get you an audience with Emperor Man so that you can ask if Earth will join this… planet league. Is that right?”

“Yes,” said Zim.

“Well, to be honest…” Professor Membrane looked a little sheepish — another expression that looked odd on Dib’s father’s face. “Inside the house, we actually call him Emperorbot.”

Dib couldn’t say he was surprised that his father had made a robot president to do his bidding and change the laws so that Membrane Enterprises could do whatever kinds of experiments they wanted. If Dib really thought about it, he would be bothered. But, really, there were worse options for world leaders. At least Emperorbot supported a livable minimum wage and sensible environmental regulations. 

And, to Dib’s relief, Professor Membrane would gladly program Emperorbot to accept their invitation to the League of Allied Planets. 

“It’s settled, then,” said Membrane, a wide smile on his face. “I’ll have the paperwork sent to the office tomorrow, we’ll get it all signed, and the planet Earth will become a member of the planet league.”

“That’s great, Dad,” said Dib. “Thank you so much. You have… you have no idea what this means for Earth.”

“Now, you told me that each member of this league has an ambassador of sorts, right? Someone to represent the planet in… intergalactic conference calls, and whatnot?” 

“Yeah,” said Dib. “You can choose whoever.”

“But, they’ll have to go into space every now and then,” added Zim.

“I see,” said Membrane. “What if… I did it?” 

“You… you want to?” asked Dib, surprised.

“Yes, I think that would be good. I think it would be appropriate for me to do it, plus, I like the idea of being more involved in my son’s work.” Professor Membrane gave Dib a soft look. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” breathed Dib. “That’d be great. Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course, son,” said Membrane, and Dib felt his eyes prickling a little. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

“Me too, Dad,” said Dib. And like that, all of that residual anger was gone. Dib smiled, and his father smiled back.

 

**vi.**

They were on Earth for a few more days. Oddly enough, Dib enjoyed staying at his father’s house, sleeping in his childhood bed. While Zim negotiated with Membrane and the fake president, Dib was free to reconnect with his home planet. He spent an entire day with Gaz, and they agreed that she would come visit him in space soon. Dib felt bad about leaving his sister behind, but she’d been willing to forgive him and move on, as long as they kept in touch and he promised never to go dark on her again. She just seemed happy to know that Dib was alive.

They traded stories about their lives, and Dib was excited to learn that Gaz was taking over Membrane Enterprises when their father retired. He told her about his adventures and their mission. Gaz particularly liked the anecdote about Dib falling off of a giant, flying bunny-like creature and fracturing his pelvis. 

Honestly, Dib couldn’t imagine leaving his family behind like that again. His homecoming had been bittersweet and, at times, difficult. He still got a little nauseated when he walked past his old skool, and he still didn’t feel like he and his dad could suddenly be best friends. But, that was okay. In time, maybe they could have something meaningful.

For now, Dib was just happy to not have this burden on his shoulders any more. He felt so free, so relaxed, walking around town with Zim and GIR, eating an ice cream cone and not worrying if his family was even still alive, if they’d even cared that he’d left. He felt dumb for even thinking that they might not. Maybe their family was tiny and super fucked up, but they were still a family. 

Still, Dib felt best when he had his husband by his side. Zim still wore his disguise, even as the news broke worldwide that aliens existed and were negotiating a deal with Emperor Man. Dib didn’t ask why — he figured Zim was just more comfortable that way. To Dib's surprise and disappointment, no one saw through Zim's disguise, and most just accepted that he had a skin condition. Whatever.

 

On their last day on Earth, Dib took Zim for a walk through the woods, where he used to track Bigfoot. Zim followed along behind him, listening as Dib detailed all of his near-encounters with the Sasquatch. 

“Hey,” said Dib suddenly, looking back at Zim. 

“What?” asked Zim, a little grumpy, as he had been for the past few days. Dib wondered if it was because Zim was convinced that all the food on Earth was poison, and therefore refused to eat or drink anything during their stay.

“I was just thinking, how weird it is that our mission is almost over. Soon, we’ll have to give the _Gormagander_ back and figure out what to do next.”

Zim looked at him, skeptical.

“Yes, this is true. Why were you thinking about that now?”

Dib considered this.

“I dunno,” he said. “Maybe just being back on Earth has made me realize how nice it is to stay in one place for a while, you know? Like, I think I’m finally ready to put down roots. To have a real house, and neighbors. To be on the same planet for more than just a couple of days at a time.”

The idea of finding a real home, of settling into a place with Zim, was suddenly much more appealing, although Dib had been thinking about it for the past couple of years. Dib liked the idea of having a real place to call their own. Having real, normal jobs that they got to leave every day, and have vacations that lasted longer than the occasional two- or three-day shore leaves they got from duty on the _Gormagander_. 

“I see,” said Zim.

“You know, between the Resisty, and Irk, and now, this, we never had time to do any fun stuff. We could go to those Plookesian film festivals. Or, you know, finally go back to Sirius Minor.”

Dib took a step closer to his husband and placed his hands on Zim's hips. He leaned in for a short kiss.

“Usually, when people get Earth-married, they go on vacation together after,” he said.

“Is that so?” murmured Zim.

“Yeah,” said Dib. “You get to just relax and have lots of sex with each other. It’s called a honeymoon.”

Zim hummed. “That sounds made up.”

Dib laughed. “I promise, it’s not.” 

“Okay,” said Zim, sliding his arms around Dib’s neck and pulling him closer. “Your very generous husband will take you to Sirius Minor for this moon of honey. Will that make you happy?”

Dib grinned, and he leaned in for another kiss.

“And then what?” he asked, his mouth moving against Zim’s.

“Do you want to live here?” asked Zim, his voice a whisper.

Dib pulled back a little, surprised.

“What?”

“You seem so happy here. If you wanted to… to stay here, permanently, we… is that what you want?” asked Zim.

Dib grinned again.

“As happy as I am to be back on Earth and to see my family, I would rather get trapped in that realm of infinite itchiness than live here again.”

Zim winced at the memory. Dib had been stuck in a therapeutic bath for four days. At least he'd had Zim there, dabbing his face with a wet towel and chastising him at length for letting his assistant mess around with the warp core. 

“Don’t remind me. You were so whiny.”

“Well, I had scratched all my skin off.”

“You humans should try to be less prone to itchiness.”

“Okay, I’ll work on it.”

Zim just hummed, but he pulled Dib a little closer.

“But seriously,” said Dib. “Do you want that? To be in the same place for a while?”

“I find that I do,” said Zim softly. “I wasn’t sure if you did. Tenn will likely ask me to replace Bob as Irk’s League representative. Would you… want to live on Irk?”

Dib knew that Irk had gone through a lot of changes in the past six Earth years. It was by no means a haven for aliens, but it was getting better, and it was much less homogenous than it used to be. 

“Maybe,” said Dib. “We could give that a try.”

“We could also live on Meekrob, if you’d prefer,” said Zim. “It’s become quite populous since the establishment of the League. I’m sure you could find a position in engineering there.”

Dib was sure he could. Looking at Zim, he realized that there were endless opportunities, stretched out before them.

He could take classes in xenoanthropology. He could learn a hundred new languages. They could buy a house, on Meekrob, and plant trees and have gardens in the yard. They could become parents, adopt a child and raise it as their own. Dib had never really thought of himself as the paternal type, but, after this trip to Earth, he realized that it might be something he wanted. It wasn’t something they had to do now… they still had so much time. It was all ahead of them, endless opportunities for joy and growth and love. 

“I think I would like Meekrob,” said Dib softly, and, like that, Zim’s mouth was on his. 

He felt his heartbeat pick up, and everything felt right. He kissed back, holding Zim by the waist and pulling their bodies together. A breeze fluttered through the trees, rustling the fallen leaves on the ground and brushing its fingers through Dib's hair.

“Okay,” said Zim, breaking the kiss. “I will inform Tenn. After the completion of our mission, we will find a home on Meekrob.”

“Okay,” said Dib, a little breathless. “But the honeymoon first, right?”

“Right,” said Zim, rising on his toes so he could lean his forehead against Dib’s. “Of course.” 

Their future stretched ahead of them. 

A honeymoon on Sirius Minor. 

Years of work on Meekrob, strengthening the League and promoting peace and unity across the galaxies. 

An apartment with one bedroom, then a house with three as their family grew. Drawings stuck to the refrigerator. Picnics in their favorite park. Hover cycles in their garage and toys scattered on the living room floor. GIR, earning and subsequently losing the title of “babysitter.”`

Visits with Gaz, Professor Membrane, Tenn, Shloonktapooxis, Skoodge, Lard Nar, and, later on, with Tak and Gashloog and, on one tense occasion, Sizz-Lorr. Mended relationships and resolved arguments. 

Dib didn’t know the specifics of their future, but he could feel what was coming. He knew that it would feel as good as this — as holding Zim close and leaning down for one more kiss before they beamed back up into space.


End file.
